


Dark Matter

by kylorentboy



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Horror, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Pining, Revenge, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-09-25 07:41:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9809738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kylorentboy/pseuds/kylorentboy
Summary: Hux needs a monster. It seems his next door neighbor Ben Solo is the closest he's going to get.If only he didn't have to complicate things by stirring up memories of his monstrous childhood obsession, Kylo Ren.





	1. Chapter 1

**May, 1998**

Hux tapped his pencil against his desk, staring at a cloud framed by the window, wishing he were someone else. Something else. A natural disaster. The water vapor in fog.

“Armitage, is there something you see outside you’d like to share with the class?”

He jumped, making the other kids snort, everyone but Phasma, Mitaka, and for other reasons entirely, Ben Solo who was sleeping in the back, as he did every day.

“Sorry,” Hux said, sitting up straighter.

A scrap of paper landed on his desk. _Rough night?_ Phasma shot him a sympathetic glance.

He bristled. He was grateful for his friends, but he would not accept pity. _Not at all. Just a bit tired._

He’d just slipped the note into her hand when the teacher snapped, “ _Armitage_ Hux, I apologize if I'm _boring_ you.”

“Forgive me for not finding the anatomy of an amoeba the most titillating of subjects,” he drawled. Fuck it, he needed a change of pace.

“Alright. Perhaps you’ll find detention more _titillating_. Ben, I’d send you too, but I should probably spare your uncle, it’s enough he has to put up with you at home.”

“Whatever floats your boat, Teach,” Ben mumbled, words muffled between his arms.

“On second thought.” She pointed him towards the door. “Enjoy your nap elsewhere, Mr. Solo.”

The walk to detention was awkward because though Hux tried to both drop his pace to fall behind and pick it up to lose Ben, the other boy seemed determined to keep in step with him. And he was staring out of the corner of his eyes, Hux could feel it, even with the thick curtain of hair concealing most of his face. Hux said nothing, gritting his teeth in an effort not to yell at him. Just because he was a spoiled freak didn’t mean he had anything to do with Hux’s problems.

“You don’t remember me, I guess,” Ben says finally, voice strangely thick. Hux deigned to look at him, but saw Ben was staring straight ahead.

“Why should I? You just moved here last year, didn’t you?” Hux couldn’t forget the brief but intense frenzy the school had worked itself into when Ben Solo showed up one day, a grouchy goth-wannabe hunched in the corner whose body language screamed he’d rather have his skin shorn than be there. His looks were alright, Hux had agreed, grudgingly, but he thought the way the girls and some boys fawned over him was tasteless. When it was made clear that Ben wasn’t just into emo subculture and was actually just standoffish and mean, the majority of their peers backed off and were mostly just afraid of him and tended to keep out of his way. Though Hux might have been classified as a stereotypical nerd, he wasn’t afraid of Ben. He simply didn’t find him interesting.

“Yeah, but . . .” Ben turned and looked him in the eyes then. Hux was unsettled by how he looked at him like he could see him, the real him, knew what he was thinking, and he struggled to keep his face impassive. Ben's nearly black eyes shone with some unrecognizable emotion. “No. Guess not.”

Before he could say anything else, Ben had turned and walked away.

Detention was uneventful until about ten minutes before school was let out for the day. Two guys Hux didn’t recognized sat slumped in seats adjacent to Hux, gesturing at Ben in the back corner of the room.

“No way, man,” one was saying. “I heard he sacrifices cats and shit. I’m not talking to him.”

“Listen, dude’s a weirdo but he’ll hook you _up_. He’s got anything you could want, it’s batshit, dude. Ask him, he’ll give it to you, he don’t even charge right. Serious shit, bro, I’m telling you.”

Hux wasn’t surprised in the least Ben was a small-time drug dealer. He might have forgotten the fact entirely if it hadn’t been his last hope three months later.

He looks him up in the phone book one night after a crying jag, down to one viable option. “Hey, Ben. You probably don’t remember me. It’s Hux.” He doesn’t catch the gasp on the other end. “Can we talk tomorrow?”

\---

** September, 1998**

They meet up on the deathbed of summer. Hux has a broken nose and Ben is burning the flesh from his hand. “So I don’t have to go back to school on Thursday,” he explains when Hux doesn’t ask.

Hux already regrets his decision to seek this freak out. Reminds himself he’s desperate.

They’re standing on either side of the fence dividing their families’ properties, his side all weeds poking through the overgrown yellow grass, Ben’s riddled with fruit trees and carpeted with lush, deep green grass, fat bumblebees dipping into patches of flowers. The fence seems to dissect two different worlds, opposite in every way. Even the air on Hux’s side seems staler. Hux takes in Ben’s all-black attire and imagines Ben is a stray blot of ink on a painting of an idyllic meadow, the artist’s sullen mistake attempting to burn himself out of the picture.

Hux is already cursing himself for letting himself get stuck in this situation. “So,” he says, breaking the uncomfortable silence that’s fallen. “I heard you were selling pills.”

Kylo winces, whether from his words or the flame, Hux isn’t sure. He must admit it’s fascinating to watch, the thin flame an angry orange around the same shade as his own hair. The smell is awful, but Hux can forget that, slowly becoming enthralled in the way the fire licks at Ben’s hand. The way it appears to devour it, the skin beginning to char. The way the hand holding the lighter trembles but doesn’t retreat.

The lighter is abruptly shut, breaking Hux from whatever spell he’d been falling under. “I’m not selling them, I’m giving them away. What’re they for?”

“Pain. A lot of pain.”

“Why?”

“None of your business. Why in the world are you giving away drugs?”

“Because they’re my--None of your business! Do you want them or not.”

“Yes,” Hux says immediately. He holds out a hand.

To his horror, Ben doesn’t move. He’s noticed his nose.

“Got in a fight.” _Relax, you’ve done this a million times_. “Didn’t win.”

“Who did that?” Hux is surprised at the intensity of the boy’s tone.

“What the fuck do you care,” he snaps, then cringes, fully expecting from the suddenly wild look in his eyes for him to hit him, burn him, slam his head against the fence. When he doesn’t move, Hux says, “You probably would’ve liked to have done it yourself.”

Ben’s eyes burn into his skin. Dimly he wonders if he’d lit the lighter again, stuck it into Hux’s clothes while he was distracted. “Who?” he asks quietly.

Hux would rather rip off his own fingernails than admit he, an eighteen year old, was beaten by his own father like a dog. He gives in.

“Poe Dameron.”

“ _Dameron_? So the little boy scout bitch has got some fight in him after all. I don’t believe it. And I would think someone like you could take on someone like Poe.”

Hux stiffens. He’d said something ugly at a party a couple weeks prior and Poe, a little too much drink in him, had shoved him into a wall, giving him a bruise on the back of his head that was still tender to the touch.

Ben’s clearly about to say something else, open mouth prepping for a mocking laugh. But then he stops. He looks at Hux again, hard, like he’s searching for something. His eyes darken as he finds it. “Sorry. I believe you.” He reaches into his pocket with his good hand and holds up a Ziploc baggie for Hux to see, then stuffs it into Hux’s hand. “If you ever need more, you know where to find me.”

“Thanks,” Hux says, unsure if he should say it or not. Now that he’s free to flee home he doesn’t move. “You should take care of that hand.” Ben, already flickering the lighter on again, looks up almost guiltily. Hux sighs. “You’re not going to, are you?”

Ben shrugs.

“Why do you hate school so much?” From what Hux had seen, he had a tight group of friends, and though most of their peers didn’t like him they at least never bothered him.

Ben shakes his head, turning away. “I’ll see you around, Hux.”

Hux looks up sharply, eyebrows rising. He used to constantly repeat that his preferred name was his surname until he realized it was utterly useless. Everyone from teachers to the most persistent bullies consistently used his hated given name, and it had been months, possibly even years, since he’d last attempted to correct anyone. Why would Ben fucking Solo get it right, and after only having lived there for a little over a year? Then, Hux reminds himself, it wasn’t like it was very uncommon, he never called Phasma or Mitaka by their first names either.

“Yeah,” he says faintly. “It’s Hux.”

“I don’t like my name either,” Ben says, flicking his lighter on and off, staring down at it intently. “It’s . . . That’s not who I am.”

The words open an old ache in him, sharp as a sword striking a rock, shaking something buried deep within his mind loose. _I don’t like my name either_ . . . But no, it’s impossible.

Ben studies him from behind overlong bangs. Cracks a smile that’s wrong, somehow. Like they share a joke Hux hasn't heard the punchline to yet. Like there are too many teeth in his mouth.

“Come back tomorrow,” he says. “If you’re interested in learning how to defend yourself.” That said, he turns and disappears into a thick copse of trees, leaving Hux with the smell of burnt flesh and the inexplicable sense that he’s being watched.


	2. Chapter 2

**October, 1980**

Hux has a tattered teddy bear, a pack of oatmeal cookies, and eleven dollars and sixty-two cents in his pockets, and he’s running away from home. He left his mother a note in crayon explaining that he wishes her the best, but must seek more suitable lodgings for himself, as he simply cannot get along with his father at this time. He’s sure she will understand, and he will send her his new address presently, and would she please come live with him as soon as he finds a place?

The midnight moon gives his neighborhood an otherworldly glow, the fronts of houses, spines of fences, even the craters in the road are blue and strange like an illustration in a Dr. Seuss book. He imagines he’s an astronaut exploring the surface of some unheard-of planet, looking for the international space station. There’s a clinging, dewy feel to the air, and Hux feels eyes, not so much watching him as _looking_ for something, groping around in the darkness like the tentacles of an octopus searching for prey. This feeling intensifies when he passes the high fence of Mr. Snoke ( _Mr. Potter son of a bitch_ , he’d heard his father say once as his hearse-like vehicle had cut them off. Hux hadn’t known what that meant, but he knew it wasn’t nice.)

He’s never been outside after dark without a grownup, and the sound of his sneakers tapping on the sidewalk against the roaring silence of the once-familiar street makes the hairs on his arms prickle. He would turn around if it hadn’t been for the letter; he had committed. If he had any inherent traits from his father, it was a stubbornness that, at six years old, already rivaled the old man’s.

He becomes aware, as though he’s been dreaming and the dream has suddenly and subtly rewound, that he’s standing frozen in front of Mr. Snoke’s house. _Mansion_ , Hux’s brain supplies, awestruck. It’s certainly larger than any other house in Arkanisville. Hux gapes, expecting crows to come flying out, screaming, or for the estate’s butler--for surely a place so intimidating must have a butler with some measure of ill will--to come shoo him away with a fire poker. But . . . nothing happens. And nothing happens. And . . . nothing happens.

He’s seconds away from shaking himself from his stupor and hurrying away when he hears the sobbing. It’s soft whimpering, really, like a puppy or someone screaming underwater. Hux walks up to the fence and peers through a crack just his height.

Mr. Snoke has a doghouse, he sees. He does not have a dog.

He can’t be more than five. A filthy t-shirt hangs off of him like a rag, his head bowed and dark hair lying over his face like a curtain, concealing his eyes. For a moment, the world around Hux fades to nothing, until there is only him, and the little boy chained to the doghouse. Hux thinks he’s dead. He’s so still, so silent, the outline of his ribs can be seen even through the oversized shirt. Then he speaks.

“Please help me,” the boy whispers. “Please help me.”

“I will,” Hux says.

The little boy’s head snaps up, eyes almost animal. “What are you doing?” he demands, voice panicked. “Go away!”

“No. I’m going to help you.” He scans the fence for a way in. He’s seen something like this in a movie, once, hasn’t he? There should be a faulty pole, an insecure latch, a . . . ah. A hole just big enough for an underfed six-year-old boy. Hux scrambles through, careful not to drop anything, although he does have a bruised knee when he pops back to his feet.

The little boy is staring at him in horror, crab-walking backwards into the darkness of the doghouse. A bowl with a few kibbles of dog food, a bowl filled with what looks like pond water, and a strip of duct tape lie near where the boy had been. Hux sits on the cold ground and pulls out a cookie, holding it out at arm’s length.

“Here,” he says. “You must be hungry. This is for you.”

“I can’t,” the boy says miserably. “I . . . It’s not allowed.”

“By who?”

“ _Him_.”

“Mr. Snoke?”

The boy wipes his nose on the back of his hand.

Hux bites the cookie. “Mm, this is so good. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

The boy only watches him from dark eyes, one bruised a grayish-purple. He eyes the cookie, beginning to inch out from the shadows.

“You can have it,” Hux assures him, holding it out again. “You can have a whole bunch. As many as you want.”

Slowly, the boy crawls out and then snatches the cookie away and retreats back to the doghouse as though Hux will take it away. He’s back out after a moment, and Hux quickly hands him another. The boy disappears again, but he doesn’t bother after the third time.

“Maybe you should slow down,” Hux says uneasily. As many crumbs fall as make it into the boy’s mouth. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, picking them off the ground and eating those too. “Or . . . maybe not.”

After a few minutes, he says, “What’s your name?”

The boy shrugs, not looking at him.

“You don’t know?”

“It’s . . .Ben.”

After a few moments when it becomes clear Ben’s not going to ask, Hux says, “Mine’s Hux. Well, my last name’s Hux. My first name’s Armitage, but I don’t like it.” _Sissified name, don’t know why I let your mother choose that godawful_ Armitage _. . ._

Ben says something Hux doesn’t catch.

“I said . . . I don’t like my name either,” he mumbles. “I’m not supposed to remember. My name, my old life.”

Hux doesn’t know how to respond to this information.

“You should go,” the boy says after his twelfth cookie. “He comes out and checks sometimes. Once . . .” His voice trails off.

“I’m taking you with me,” Hux says matter-of-factly. “I’m going to take you back home and you can sleep in my room and in the morning my mom will make us pancakes with berries in them.”

“No,” Ben says, shaking his head. “No no no. I’m here ‘cause I’m too bad. I . . . I bit him. That's why I have to sleep out here now, it's my punishment. I can't even do right when I'm trying so hard to be good, when he's trying to show me how. I can’t . . .” He pauses, seeming to struggle for words that he’s heard but doesn’t quite remember. “I can’t be around people. I’m a . . . menace to . . . society and . . . I’m dangerous.” He taps the collar. “This is for my own good, and everybody else’s too.” He leans forward, the motion causing bones in his chest to jut out in painfully sharp angles. His eyes look like black holes in the shadow from the house, stars swallowed by time, craters burning in the moon’s face. “If I weren’t wearing this collar, I could kill you just by thinking it.”

“That’s a lie,” Hux says, pushing to his feet. “I’m going to take it off to prove it.”

“No! No no no no no.” Ben crawls desperately back into the doghouse and Hux doesn’t follow. “I can’t control my powers without it. There’s another reason, but I . . .  I can’t remember.”

“I can’t just leave you here.” He stares into the black square of the doghouse’s opening and sighs, plopping back to the ground. “I guess I’ll live here now.”

“What?” Ben’s face, a pale, sickly moon, peers out at him.

“I was out looking for a place to live,” Hux says. “I might as well stay here with you, since you won’t come with me.”

“M-Maybe . . .” Ben seems to consider for a moment. “Maybe I could come with you, but leave it on. Then I wouldn’t be d-d-- a danger.”

“Then I'll have to take off the chain.”

Ben doesn’t argue as Hux steps forward to look at his neck, though he begins to tremble wildly when Hux hands reach out. “It’s okay,” Hux says softly, taking up the chain. It’s criminally rusted; Ben, as frail and tiny as he is, could surely have broken it himself against the doghouse if he’d had so much as a few minutes alone. Hux wonders what could have compelled the little boy to not try to escape when it would be so easy. The collar, he notices, is a sturdy metal with illegible words engraved all the way around the band, but it comes unattached with a simple clasp like one would find on any dog collar, held together with three plastic rungs. There’s clearly a red, irritated ring around the boy’s neck, scabbed over in some places, bleeding in most. “Ben,” he says softly, “Why don’t you take the collar off?”

Ben looks back at him with tearful eyes, and wordlessly reaches up to undo the collar. His fingertips have barely brushed it before he’s collapsing, spasming on the ground in silent anguish, mouth open.

“He’ll know,” he whispers. “He’ll know he’ll know. He knows whenever I try to . . .” Hux can see his fingertips are burnt, clearly from the collar.  He looks at Hux then, and for the first time Hux can truly see his eyes, wide and bloodshot and dazzled with unearthly terror. “ _You have to go_ ,” he says in a voice, in a language, that Hux has never heard but understands, impossibly. “ _Hux_ , go, now.”

Hux crouches beside him and finds that one of the plastic rungs has snapped off, and quickly unsnaps the rest of it. “I’m not gonna leave without you. Come on, get up.”

Ben is still shaking for a moment, gasping for breath, but slowly he gets to his feet and seems to shake off some invisible weight with a groan, a crack of his neck. His eyes still have that wild, inhuman look, but they’re no longer the eyes of a terrified, injured little boy. He looks down at his hands, and laughs.

“Ridiculous,” the little boy mutters, voice . . . odd. “He’s done it again. I fall for it every damn--” He looks at Hux as though he’d forgotten he was there. “No,” he whispers, eyes gone feral with that terrible fear once again.

“It’s okay, I’m right h--!” Something cold grabs him by the throat and lifts him. Claws. He’s aware suddenly of the numbing chill (where have his shoes gone? Lost, under the fence? Forgotten, in his taken-for-granted bedroom back at his warm, safe home?) and the putrid scent of something being stuffed in his mouth, a wadded-up rag or a tie. He watches Ben’s tiny, tear-streaked face receding, grubby hand outstretched.

He screams - and there’s no sound - he kicks at his attacker - and his feet meet empty air - he calls for help - but when he looks again, the little boy is nowhere in sight.

The stars are red, and falling like snow; he can feel the dizzying heat of them from hundreds of millions of miles away. Hux looks down on himself from above. His red hair is stark against the white ground, and the man dragging him into the mansion is skeletal, garbed in something like a priest would wear, or Hux’s vague idea of a dark wizard. He appears old and frail, but he carries Hux, who’s scrawny but struggling and throwing all his weight against him, as though he weighs nothing. The door slams shut behind them, loud as the world ending, and Hux is aware of nothing but fangs bared in a malicious grin, and darkness.

“This is what happens to bad children,” the skeleton says. His voice is the bloodcurdling sound of bones grinding together. “ _Wicked_ children who poke around in business that doesn’t concern them.”

Without ceremony, he’s tossed like a bag of flour into a pitch dark room, a closet, and locked inside.

Hux pounds on the door with his fists, feeling no pain but a mounting sense of urgency that he leave, _now._ He knows for a fact now he must be in a dream, but he’s no longer in control of it, if he ever was. He’s not even sure if it’s his.

_Don’t worry, Hux. Don’t worry. You’re not in any danger. I’ll be right there._

A voice, familiar but not well enough to name, speaks directly into his mind. He stops struggling purely out of surprise, falling weakly back against a wall of musty-smelling clothes.

It all happens rather quickly after that.

The skeleton is just outside of the door; he can hear his wet, strained breathing. “Be patient, wretch” he rasps, “You’ll get your tur--”

Whatever he tries to say next is lost in an unintelligible gurgle. A silvery flicking sound, a whoosh of air, followed by wet cutting, almost inaudible beneath the skeleton’s slurred, wordless yell, staggering steps thudding towards the front door. Stomps and lumbers, ineffective, a felled beast of prey. In the dark, Hux feels something warm and wet touch his toes.

 _Next time try harder, you foolish old man_.

The words aren’t aimed at him, but Hux still feels a chill.

The door is neatly ripped off his hinges as though it’s tissue paper. Haloed by some moonbeam shining through a crack, Ben stands atop the body of Mr. Snoke, still flailing limply, mouth gaping and oozing blood.

Ben holds out a hand, smiling. “Come on, Hux,” he says softly. His voice doesn’t sound right, too deep, too far away, and Hux doesn’t understand. He looks the same, but then his vision has gotten rather blurry. “It’s a bit past your bedtime, don’t you think?”

Hux takes his hand and steps over the skeleton into the moonlit foyer. He closes his eyes, and rubs his cheek against his pillow, his grip tightening on Millicent. The door creaks opens, waking him fully.

“I got your letter.” His mother whispers this, which means his father is awake. They aren’t allowed to raise their voices when he’s within earshot. She smiles warmly, sitting on the edge of his bed and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’m glad you changed your mind.”

“Where’s Ben?” Hux asks, eyes darting feverishly around the room. “Is he okay?”

“Who?” She laughs, stroking his hair. “You were dreaming, honey. It’s Saturday, you can sleep a little while longer if you’d like. I’ll tell him you aren’t feeling well.”

Brendol, of course, wouldn’t let any son of his lie around in bed after dawn if he wasn’t on the brink of death.

“I . . . No, I . . . That wasn’t just a dream, it was real! Ben could still be in trouble, I have to help him get back to his family. He saved me . . . I saved him from Mr. Snoke! He’s not really a man, he’s a monster! He was going to kill us, Mum.”

“That’s alright, darling. Nothing’s going to get you. Go back to sleep. Maybe Ben is waiting for you.” She pats his cheek and leaves.

That morning both the local and major news stations speak of little else but Senator Organa’s son waking up from his coma, as well as the grisly murder of successful if notorious lawyer Albert Snoke. However, Brendol doesn’t allow news programs in the house. Still tucked snugly in bed, Hux soon falls back asleep.

\---

Hux searches for Ben for hours, crying his name until his voice grows hoarse, until the name no longer holds meaning. He’s not at Snoke’s mansion, which is now a smoking ruin no taller than Hux; he’s not at the house down the street where Hux imagines for some reason Ben’s family lives; he’s not in the woods behind Hux’s house. Hux slumps against a tree, exhausted. It’s almost evening. His father doesn’t know he’s gone. He’s going to be in incredible trouble, and he can’t even find the little boy to make sure he’s okay. What if Snoke is still alive, and has taken Ben somewhere far worse than the doghouse? What if--

“You won’t find him here,” a soft but rich voice says. “Not even in your dreams. He’s gone far away.”

Hux looks up. A black suit of armor made for a medieval knight stands feet away from him. It crouches down to Hux’s level. Hux can see his reflection in the creature’s mask. He is not afraid of it. This is no nightmare; unlike the night before, he senses that he alone is in control. This knight answers to him, agrees to the terms of wherever his mind chooses to go. He taps a finger to its metallic face, listens to its hollow ringing.

“But you may have me,” the knight continues. “I am at your disposal for as long as you need me."

“What’s . . . disposal?”

He can discern no features from the creature; as far as he knows, its flesh is truly made up of the armor. But he can feel it smiling at him.

“It means your wish is my command, Hux.”

“What’s your name?”

The knight bows its head in deference. “Kylo Ren.”

“Kylo Ren.” The words are odd leaving his mouth, a covenant in an unspoken language. “I want to know where Ben is. I’m worried Mr. Snoke has him. Can you find him for me?”

The knight holds up a hand. “Ben is safe now. There is no need for you to worry about him, I promise. You have done enough. I advise that you worry about yourself. Things aren’t entirely safe for you at home, are they? You’re afraid to wake up.”

Hux scowls at the creature. “I am not!”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too!”

Hux stomps his foot. “Am not! I thought my wish was your command. That means stop arguing with me, you . . . you cretin!” A word Hux doesn’t really know, but has heard Brendol use to insult people before.

Kylo Ren sits cross-legged and crosses its arms over its chest, head bowed petulantly. It should be startling, seeing a being so large and self-possessed regress to the behavior of a child. But then, Hux is a child himself, and doesn't think anything of it. “I just want to help you. I don’t know how.” It looks up at Hux. “I’ll do anything in my power. I just need to know what to do.”

Hux thinks on this. “I . . . would really like an ice cream cone.” Brendol doesn’t allow him to have sweets, and he hasn’t tasted ice cream since he was five years old and they gave it out for free at school. “Yeah. I want an ice cream cone.”

One moment he’s in the forest, Kylo Ren sitting on the ground at his feet, and the next they’re standing on Main Street in front of an ice cream truck. Hux is first in line, and the ice cream man is handing down a sugar cone with three big scoops of strawberry with a cherry on top.

“Wow,” Hux breathes. He looks up at his new friend. “You’re not having any?”

Kylo Ren puffs out its chest. “Knights don’t eat ice cream.” Its stomach growls, and it seems to reconsider. “Well . . .”

For one lifetime there is the golden, simple pleasure of eating ice cream, sitting on a hill overlooking a sunset with the black-clad figure standing solidly at his side, also eating ice cream.

“May I always find you here?” he asks the knight after what feels like hours, panicking as he feels the edges of the dream beginning to soften, the alarming crescendo of his father’s voice downstairs mixing with this paradise he’s clinging to. “Will you be here when I fall asleep tonight?”

“Tonight and every other night,” the knight promises. “I’ll be here until . . .”

“Until when?” he cries, but his eyes are open now and he hears nothing but his door shutting, followed by the hellishly familiar sound of the lock turning from the outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's fairly graphic child abuse and children being in dangerous situations in this chapter. Just tread lightly.


	3. Chapter 3

**May, 1995**  

_“Where did you get these?” his mother_ _, Ama,_ _asks suspiciously, but Hux only makes a soothing noise in the back of his throat and tips the glass up for her to drink. She doesn’t protest, only grimacing as they go down._  

_“Thank you, Armie. You’re a good boy.” She strokes his hair, eyes swimming. He smiles. “I’m sorry about all this,” she says, waving a hand at the blanket covering her legs, at her rapidly failing body. “You having to do everything,_ _you should be out_ _with your friends_ _like any other boy_ _—"_  

_“Now there’ll be none of that, young lady.” He tucks the blanket more securely around her_ _and_ _presses_ _a kiss to the top of her head_ _,_ _flicking on the small television on the dresser. “Let’s just find something on, shall we? I’ll get some biscuits.”_  

_She catches his wrist when he moves to get up. “Armitage . . . I don’t want you doing anything you shouldn’t. I worry about you.” Hux has worries of his own. There's a_ _purpling_ _bruise covering most of the left side of her face._ _Though_ _it's turned mostly into the pillow, he knows it's there because_ _he'd_ _heard the thump his father's fist had made connecting to her cheek even from another room, had watched her just that morning beginning to go through the routine of applying makeup to conceal the marks before she stopped, realizing there was no point, Hux had seen, and she wouldn’t be leaving the bedroom, not anymore._ _Her frame, once ample and athletic, full of life and laughter, is now wasting away rapidly. There are only a few weeks left now. "At least we don't need to worry about your father for a bit, hmm? That coward."_  

_Hux smiles gently. “Drink your tea, Mum.”_  

_He pops a tray of cookies into the oven and watches the window warily, a nervous habit. His father would normally be getting home from work around this time, a scowl on his face and a subtle threat in his very footsteps on the front steps. His mother’s right, though, he never shows his face a day or two after he’s laid hands on one of them. He grips the counter until his knuckles turn white, thinking on how this is all the old man’s fault in the first place. If he hadn’t been the heavy-handed, controlling bastard he was, if he’d allowed his mother to go to the doctor sooner, maybe they could have done something, maybe . . . His fingers tighten on the edge of the counter, imagining it’s his father’s throat, how it would give under his hold. How powerless he feels. The cookies burn, but his mother doesn’t complain, nor does she comment on the tears slipping from her son’s eyes._  

_\---_    
 

**September, 1998**  

Hux tosses the baggy of pills into his desk drawer, nauseous at the memories they evoke. He sighs, picking up a picture frame he usually avoids looking at. 

"I couldn't save you from him," he whispers to the smiling photo of his mother, the only one he has of her. "But I'll save myself. Because it's what you would have wanted." 

He takes up the butcher's knife he'd stolen from the kitchen and sharpens it. 

 

\---

The following afternoon, the entire world is gray, and both sides of the fence are equally miserable. Ben’s still wearing black, and now he fits better in his surroundings, now more of a brooding, mysterious hero in a Austen or Bronte novel than the devil trespassing in heaven’s valleys. 

“You didn’t get much sleep last night, huh?” he asks, gesturing to the deep bags under Hux’s eyes. 

Hux doesn’t answer. “Self-defense,” he reminds impatiently, scrambling onto Ben’s side and holding up his fists like he’s seen in the movies. 

Ben scowls. “Right. Hit me.” 

Hux hesitates for a moment, then swings with great force at Ben’s cheek. Ben easily ducks aside, leaving Hux unbalanced, turning too slowly to block a soft punch to his ribs. 

“Never turn your back on someone who’s attacking you.” 

“No shit,” Hux says, going for Ben’s solar plexus. Ben sidesteps, going to move behind him, but Hux is faster this time, striking a leg out to sweep Ben’s out from under him, but instead Ben returns the move with a twist. Hux falls graceless on his ass. 

“Kicking is pretty risky, if your attacker is anticipating it they can get you on the ground. That’s the last thing you want.” 

Hux leaps to his feet, snarling. “So show me what to do, bastard.” 

Ben grabs his hand. “Make a fist. You want to go for the eyes, nose, throat. Vulnerable places.” 

High on adrenaline and pissed at the world at large Hux strikes, this time for the nose, and connects with a crunch that is equal parts satisfying and sickening. Ben lets out a sound that is caught between a moan and a laugh, but Hux falters, disgusted with himself. 

“We should stop. I don’t actually want to hurt you.” 

Ben grins, showing off blood-stained teeth. “Don’t you?” 

Something primal stirs in Hux at the sight of Ben’s black cow eyes gleaming, his nose dripping blood over full red lips and oh, he does, he does . . . . but. “No,” he says. “I really don’t.” 

Ben, who has been vibrating visibly with energy, slows and finally stops, shoulders slumping a little. “Oh. Okay. I think that’s a pretty good start anyway, don’t you?” 

Hux didn’t account for blood, so he has nothing on hand but his own t-shirt. He tears a strip of it off reluctantly and throws it at Ben’s face. “Bear that down on your nose. Tilt your head forward. Forward, you idiot,” he says, tilting the boy’s head himself and pinching his nose through the shirt, probably harder than he should. “I’m sorry about that, Solo, I misjudged.” 

“I don’t mind.” Ben’s voice is quiet, but leaves no space for argument. He smiles, touches Hux’s fingers on his nose with a gentleness that leaves Hux lightheaded, as though he’d been the one punched. It’s not often anyone touches him just for the sake of touch. “You’re really doing me a favor, you know. I don’t get fussed over by cute guys everyday.” 

“Shut up,” Hux scoffs, turning his face away to hide the blush he feels creeping up his neck and an involuntary smile in return, though he doesn’t remove his hand. “I don’t understand why you did this for me. People like us aren’t nice without a reason.” 

“Unless it's a selfish reason,” Ben says without missing a beat, beaming at the fact that Hux considers them equals. “I wanted to see you again.” 

“But why?” Did he honestly think he was cute, or was he fucking with him? 

Ben’s brow furrows like something besides the nose is paining him. "Hux—" 

Tires scream up the road a mile back, and Hux’s heart, which he suddenly realizes has been beating suspiciously hard despite the fact he’d hardly done anything, threatens to stop. He knows that sound well and nothing good ever comes out of it. 

“I have to go,” he says abruptly, backing away. He feels unreasonably colder with the loss of contact. “I’ll see you in school. Maybe.” 

“Maybe,” Ben calls after him. Hux practically sprints home, but something makes him stop and look back after he’s nearly made it to his yard. Ben’s still standing there by the fence, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking off to the side. He’s never seen someone look so alone. 

He hears it again in his head soon after, and again and again, the shape of an idea forming, a star gradually appearing in the sky as night falls. _Maybe_ . . . 

   
\---

His father's so stumble-drunk he nearly topples over when he slams the door of his truck shut. 

"What're you lookin' at?" he mutters, shoving past him to the house. 

Hux doesn't bother saying anything as he trails him inside, all but wringing his hands. Hux Sr., groans, folding into himself on the couch. When Hux hovers in the doorway, he hollers, "Quit fuckin' standing there, get outta my sight!" 

"Did you get in a fight with Maratelle?" His father's wife has had him on a short leash ever since his mother died, presumably so he wouldn't run out and immediately find another mistress, but Hux Sr does always show up on Fridays to pick up Hux's check from his part time job. Today is not a Friday. 

"You want me to dot your eyes? Get out of here, I said. I'm still pissed you're holding out on me, but I'm feeling generous so I'm gonna give you one more chance to get out of my face." 

Hux could argue that it's really his money to begin with and there's nothing morally right about making your son hand over his money to pay rent for shelter you should already be providing. He could argue that breaking your own's son's nose for such an offense is really cause to be in prison. But he doesn't want to fight today, so he backs off while he still can, slinking up to his room and shutting the door as quietly as he can while wanting to slam it until the hinges rattle off. 

Hux has long grown used to being alone, but _feeling_ alone is not something he deals with often. In moments like these, it's impossible to ignore how much his room is a vacuum, separating him from reality, from the rest of the world, people who might love him, save him. He takes an uneasy breath and sinks to the floor, crossing his arms over his knees and burying his face in them. Behind his eyes the dark figure of Kylo Ren lurks, promising him companionship, immunity. Bloodlust. He banishes the embarrassing memories. That was kid stuff. Satisfying, fulfilling, perhaps, but the self indulgent fantasies of a young boy nonetheless. 

He won't lapse now into the arms of a figment of his imagination. He likes to think he's outgrown that now. 

He stands and crosses to his desk, eyeing the drawer where the knife and the pills lie, waiting for the time to be right. He pictures his father, vulnerable on the couch. He'd need to lure him up somehow. Taunt him, that wouldn't be difficult. Hux might be a little unsteady on his feet; he'd need to stab himself first, of course, for the self-defense plea to hold up. Now is the perfect opportunity. He swallows three of the pills, takes the knife and holds the doorknob in his hand. 

And realizes he can't do it. 

He plunges the knife into the surface of his desk and throws himself onto the bed, muffling a scream of frustration into his pillow. 

\--- 

Dim gray light of evening has settled over the room like a fog when his eyes open again. He jolts upright as he realizes what had woken him: the sound of footsteps down in the kitchen, a low voice crawling up the stairs. His father. 

"I'd love to see what you've been wasting your money on, there's not a goddamn thing in the fridge." _Bang_. "A rat would starve." _Shatter_. "FUCK, Armitage, get your lazy ass down here and clean this shit up!" 

Hux grabs a handful of cash from his money jar and climbs out the window. 

The walk to McDonald's isn't far, but the late summer night bleeding into autumn is a chilly one and he hadn't thought to grab a jacket. He's trembling by the time he sees the yellow arch. He orders a large Big Mac combo and settles down into a corner with a vantage point of both doors. His gaze is swinging between them when he spots Ben at the next table. 

Five or six other teens also in all black sit with him, and for a moment at least, Hux would swear they're making a packet of ketchup _float_. But then it smacks against the table and he writes it off as a side effect of the painkillers he'd taken earlier. His senses are delayed, it's as though he's moving underwater. They're talking amongst themselves, flicking fries at each other and laughing, all except Ben. 

Ben's staring directly at him. 

Hux sucks in a breath and hunches over his food, intending not to look up again lest Ben thinks he's challenging him. There was a rumor in school that Ben and his friends were a small cult of satanists. Ben had seemed alright the few times they'd spoken, but that didn't mean he wouldn't act out if his buddies were there to egg him on. 

"Are you okay?" 

His drink spills with a jerk of his elbow. "Jesus, Ben! Don't sneak up on me like that!" 

Ben flinches, backing away from him. "I'm sorry. I'll get you another one, what are you drinking?" 

"No, it doesn't matter--" But Ben's already gone up to the counter. Sighing, he turns to see that Ben's friends are whispering to each other and gesturing at him. 

"Oh my God, are you Hux?" One of them, a girl with braided hair and intense brown eyes, is grinning at him incredulously. "I don't believe it. I feel like I'm meeting a celebrity or something." 

"Uh . . . Yes. Believe it." He only vaguely recognizes them as the people who follow Ben around everywhere. He doesn't even know any of their names. 

"I didn't think you were real, to be honest," another snorts, the top half of their face concealed by a toboggan. 

"He talks about you all the time, man," a boy with blonde hair hanging down to his waist tells him, eyebrows raised. "I swear, sometimes it's like, okay, we get it. He's really in love." 

A laugh is startled out of him. "Wait, we're not—No, you must have the wrong—" 

"I don't know what they said, but ignore them," Ben says, sounding world-weary. He sends them a glare that has them huddling back together, laughing and throwing glances over their shoulders at the two of them. 

"Sorry, they're assholes." Ben kicks out a chair and sits down, pushing a large Coke across to him. "I, um. I know you left in kind of a hurry earlier, and you seemed nervous about something. Is everything alright?" 

Hux sighs, slumping down in his chair. "Not really, no. Just things at home. Nothing unusual, but. I needed to get out and clear my head." 

Ben bites his lip and Hux quickly glances away. "You could come over. To my place, I mean. If you don't want to go home." 

It sounds wonderful actually. Aloud he says, "No way, you don't have to do that." 

"It's no problem, I promise. I wouldn't offer if it was." 

"Selfish reasons, huh?" Hux smiles, finally calming down enough to continue stuffing his face. "Okay," he says at last. "Thanks." 

"Of course, Hux." The weight with which he says it confuses him, and he thinks back to what Ben's friends had said, but he shrugs it off. There's no way in hell. They were just messing with him. 

Hux waits for Ben to go back to his friends and leave him to finish his dinner in peace, or at least to stop staring at him expectantly, but he does neither. His eyes are dark, possibly black, and seem to burn under the harsh fluorescents. Hux finds himself staring back, and unsure why. They remind him of something he can't quite put his finger on. 

"So," Hux says, just to have something to say, "Is it true you guys sacrifice cats to Satan?" 

Ben laughs. It lights up his face, and Hux is struck by how handsome he is in this moment. It's so loud a few people turn to look at them. 

"Shut up, Hux," he says warmly, leaning his chin on his hand and gazing at him in what can only be described as adoration. 

Hux knows his face is turning red but he guesses that's just something that Ben does to him and he's going to have to accept it. 

"Why are you staring at me?" he bursts out, unable to take it another second. "Do I have ketchup on my lips? Is it my nose? What is so fascinating?" 

Ben glowers, finally, _finally_ looking down and away. The uninhibited, happy boy from moments before is gone in an instant and Hux almost regrets saying anything. "I don't know. It's just weird. Seeing you like this. Up close. It's . . . hard to get used to." 

Hux doesn't see how it could be any weirder than hanging out with anyone else from their school that they've seen but rarely spoken to. On the other hand, Ben _is_ slightly less intimidating one-on-one than he is from across a cafeteria or in a classmate's exaggerated rumor. And more so, simultaneously. 

"I guess I know what you mean," he says. 

Ben's smile returns slowly, and he looks up at him from beneath his lashes. "Yeah?" 

"Yeah." 

Ben takes a handful of his fries and stands. "Let's get out of here. You can finish eating in the car." 

Ben lunges forward to open the passenger's side door for him and Hux holds his breath as they come close enough that their chests nearly brush. Ben stands still for a moment, and Hux pretends that he's the one blushing now even though it's too dark to tell. 

"Put your seatbelt on," Ben says under his breath, turning on his heel and rounding the car. 

Hux is almost surprised they don't sneak in through a window. Ben seems like the type to sneak out just to get a burger. 

Ben, for some reason, seems to be nervous. He babbled the entire car ride, and his voice is softer now, his family must be sleeping, but he hasn't slowed down. "I'm guessing those are the only clothes you have," he's saying as he leads him upstairs. Hux wills himself not to be self-conscious in his ratty jeans. "It's okay, I've got a t-shirt and sweats you could wear. They're probably a little big, but . . ." 

"Can't be _that_ big," Hux mutters. 

"And you can sleep in my bed, if you want. I mean, it's no problem. I could sleep on the floor, I mean. Or the couch. I mean—" 

"Ben, it's fine. Hey, are you sweating?" 

Ben swipes a hand across the back of his neck. "No." 

Hux laughs, but can't tell if Ben hears. 

"Listen. It's . . ." He searches for the right word. Nice? Insane? " _Sweet_ of you to offer, but I really don't want to put you out. I should probably head home anyway, I'm sure everything's blown over by now." 

Ben stops and turns to him, taking him firmly by the shoulder. His eyes rip a hole right through him. If it weren't for that grip, he would be taking a step back and likely tumbling down the stairs. "Hux. You could never put me out. Last door on the right." The change in subject is dizzying. Hux doesn't know why but he follows Ben up. 

As they reach the second floor he steps aside for Hux to go first. He's staring intently at his face once again, and once again he opens the door for him. 

"I really appreciate you letting me stay—" He gasps. Then takes a step forward. Then puts a hand over his mouth. 

Faintly he hears the door shut behind him. 

"—stay over." 

Ben's smiling at him, a smile that seems to flicker at the edges, up and down, like he's having a nervous fit. "You like it?" 

_It_ refers to the night sky that is Ben's bedroom. The floor, the walls, the ceiling, all stars. They cast a glow on the room and everything in it, Ben’s bed, their bodies. It reminds Hux of a planetarium he’d visited once when he was a kid, the star show that had filled him with a sharp, irrevocable ache that still returns full force from time to time. Of course, that had only been a projection made real by Hux’s child imagination. 

This. This is like floating in a glass box millions of miles above the earth. 

“No,” he breathes. His own voice sounds so far away. "I love it." 

“Come here.” Ben’s standing against the wall and beckons Hux over. Hux goes, not even questioning. Ben cups his hand and lays it against the wall. 

“Touch a star, Hux." 

"Don't make fun of me," he says, but he doesn't pull away. Ben's breath on the back of his neck is warm and stuttering. 

A hot biting pain sears into his hand and he leaps back. "Fuck!"

"Shh, shh." Ben takes his palm and kisses it. If he notices Hux shuddering at the contact, he doesn't mention it. He ignores his protests as he presses it back to the wall. "That's just what it's like the first time. Try it again. You'll like it, I promise." 

"What the fuck, you're out of your mind." He watches as one of the "stars" dotting the wall suddenly surges to the side, straight into his hand. An intense warmth just short of painful works its way from his fingertips up to his arm. This time it's more of a steady buzz, a comforting heat like a familiar presence. 

" _Ben_." 

"I know. I know." 

" _What is it?_ " 

He can feel Ben's smile on his skin. "It's me. All of it. It's me."

The star darts away, and another takes it place, and then another, another. They all leave a distinctly different feeling behind them, similar but with their own particular sensation. Hux is giddy with it, giggling like a child as the white beams dance before him, flashing in and out of his grasp, an intricate, interactive light show. 

He lets go finally, stepping back only to run into Ben's arms. They snake around him, pulling him closer, and Hux finds himself running his hands over them despite every instinct in him telling him to fight, to run. At the same time, this is the safest he's felt since his mother died. He knows he should put a stop to this, if only because he doesn't know if he could stand it being taken away by forces beyond him.

He reaches out to trace the edge of a star, but now there's nothing to feel but a sticker on the wall. "I—I don't understand." 

"You don't have to." He takes a deep breath, and Hux realizes belatedly he's smelling him. "Ready for bed? You have school tomorrow." 

Ben finds him some pajamas, and to Hux’s immense relief they only hang off of him a little. Ben still stares at him with that unreadable expression as he emerges from the bathroom and hovers by the bed. 

“C’mere,” Ben says, scooting over until his back is pressed against the wall. “I won’t bite.” 

Hux hesitates, but finally gets in, curling up so that he’s almost hanging off the edge and no part of him touches any part of Ben. He wonders if Ben’s heard the rumors that he’s gay. No, he’d teased him earlier that day but there was no way he would be so nice to him if he knew-- 

“Hux,” Ben says directly into his ear, making him jump. “You’re so loud.” 

Hux assumes he’s being sarcastic and laughs. “Sorry. Ben, I really, really do appreciate this. I mean hell, you barely even know me.” 

“I know you better than you think, Hux. You know I’ll always give you anything you want.” Hux doesn’t know what to make of _that_. “And you don’t have to call me that when we’re alone.” 

“Okay? What should I call you then?” 

There’s a long pause, and then the bed dips and Ben scrambles over him, crouches down on the floor and peers into his face, black eyes searching. Suddenly, his mouth falls open. “You . . . You were serious. You really don’t recognize me.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

Ben doesn’t say anything for a moment, rubbing at his jaw. Finally he gets back into bed. “Nevermind. Forget it. Go to sleep.” 

Strangely, he does forget it, almost immediately. He knows he should remember, but what was it they were talking about? He yawns. Ben's bed is extremely comfortable. 

Hux drifts in and out of consciousness for a while, grateful for the warmth of the other boy at his back, at the inexplicable peace it brings him, despite how baffling he is. He thinks of the contrast between the frightening figure Ben Solo is in the eyes of almost every student in their school, and the gracious if odd friend Hux has tentatively made. He trails fingertips lightly over the back of his hand, trying to recreate the feeling of Ben's cradling it. 

It’d been his right hand Ben had touched him with, Hux realizes with a start, almost every time. The hand he’d burnt the day before. 

How smooth and unmarred it had been in his own. 

\--- 

He has one of the dreams, the first in years. 

This time, he’s on a carousel spinning lazily in a white lake of black stars. A choir of blues crooners sings somewhere above and far away, something simultaneously cheerful and forlorn. Bubbles dribble out of his nose and dance up to the surface where they wink out in a pool of vague sunlight. 

He’s not alone. 

On every other animal, a corpse slumps in separate auras of blood. Their throats are slit from ear to ear, and their wide fish eyes stare out into the milky nothing. They all have one thing in common: they have hurt him personally. Childhood bullies, rude neighbors, and at the forefront, his father, clinging to life, a guttural noise leaving him with every up-and-down movement as the pole of his animal drives further into the hole in his throat. 

Hux’s ride is a black stallion, glittering black like the night sky. 

“There you are. I'm sure you'd like to know they begged for mercy,” it says, soft voice a counterpoint to its warlike form. The voice normally does sound different every time, even changing while in the same dream, as does its appearance, but its owner is always the same. Hux is as sure of this as he can be sure of anything. “I hope this pleases you. I’m only sorry I can’t provide you this in the waking world.” 

“Don’t apologize for something beyond your control,” Hux says. “You’ve done very well.” He leans down and rests his cheek against the long, sleek neck of his steed, taking comfort in its warmth and proximity in the cold, spacious lake. “Thank you, Kylo Ren. How I've missed you," he admits on a sigh. "Why are you so good to me?” 

A hand gently strokes the back of his head. A deep but adolescent voice whispers into his ear, “Because I'm yours.” 


	4. Chapter 4

He wakes up in an unfamiliar bedroom to sunlight pouring into his eyes. He turns to look back at Ben, Orpheus half-asleep, but he's gone. His side of the bed is still warm, and Hux talks himself into only lying there for a minute or two.     

The smell of pancakes carries him downstairs.     

His principal is standing at the stove in slippers and pajama pants with little airplanes printed on them, whistling what sounds like the theme from The Twilight Zone.     

"Mr. . . . Mr. Skywalker?"     

He spins around and Hux sees in mild horror he's wearing a Kiss the Cook apron. "Ah, Armitage! A pleasure." He reaches out with the hand not holding the frying pan and Hux shakes it, trying not to show his surprise when he feels it's made of metal. "Lost it in a card game," Mr. Skywalker says, winking. "You eat bacon?"     

Hux nods absently, scanning the room. There's a table that can seat at least six people, a kitchen island, pictures of Ben and a little girl posted all over the refrigerator door, an underdressed middle-aged man studying him good-naturedly. No Ben.  

His eyes slowly track back to the refrigerator. There's a photo of Ben as a child, dressed in an Indiana Jones outfit complete with rope and hat.  

There's no denying it's his Ben. His moody, frightened-eyes Ben, still too skinny and pale.  

Hux can't tell if he's surprised or not.  

"What kind of uncle would I be if I didn't have embarrassing pictures lying all over the house, ready to share with whoever crosses my path?" Mr. Skywalker says at his shoulder. He plucks the Indiana Jones picture up and holds it close to his eyes before offering it to Hux. "Ah. This was from Halloween of 1981 if I remember correctly. Not long after you kids met, right?"  

Hux takes it, choosing to stare at it rather than look his principal in the eye and have him wondering why his school's pending valedictorian is standing in his kitchen in his nephew's old clothes having a minor crisis. "How much did he tell you?"  

"Just that the two of you met in the neighborhood when he was visiting me around that time. I always thought it was sweet how he never forgot you even all those years."  

"Yeah," Hux said. "I never forgot him either." He looks around, still wondering where Ben could be.  

"Yeah, he disappears sometimes," Mr. Skywalker says apologetically. "God only knows where. He could be walking the dog, he could have skipped town. You get used to it. But sit, sit, talk with me." Mr. Skywalker sets out their plates and sits across from him. "You go by Hux, right?"     

Hux burns his tongue on a piece of toast and tries to hide his grimace with a smile. "Correct."     

"Ready to be a senior?"     

"Ready to graduate, sir."     

Mr. Skywalker laughs. "I hear that. Just try to enjoy high school while you can, it's not so bad as you think." He shakes his head, gaze turning thoughtful. "I admit I'm very surprised he hasn't brought you by before. You mind if I told you something?"     

Hux shakes his head, though he dreads what he's going to hear. 

Mr. Skywalker leans in conspiratorially.  

"Just between us, he talks about you like you hung the moon. Has for years." He goes back to his breakfast like he hadn't made Hux's pulse skyrocket. He puts his hands in his lap to hide how they shake. "It's been rough on him, the past few years. His parents decided it would be best for him to stay with me for awhile, less stressful, out of the bustle of the city and the public eye," he continues, as though he's making perfect sense. "Well, Ben was  _not_  happy about it. The thing that convinced him in the end was me mentioning his old buddy Hux, that you lived next door. He didn't say another word against it. That's some power you must have over him," Mr. Skywalker says with a smile. "You have to tell me your secret."  

"I . . . I . . ."  

Somewhere behind him a screen door smacks shut and suddenly there's a large, fuzzy dog nuzzling against his leg.   

"Chewie, down," Ben says. "Hey, Luke, there's—"   

There's a pause, and Hux looks over his shoulder to see what's wrong. Ben's gaze is fixed on him.  

"What's the matter, son?" Luke asks. "Look like you've seen a ghost."   

"Nothing," Ben says, head down and going about making his plate. "I don't know, it's nothing." His smile, as well as something else even less fortunate, has grown by the time he takes a seat next to Hux, and he holds up an arm to hide it behind and hunches over the table. 

"I don't suppose you've changed your mind about playing hooky," Luke says, arching an eyebrow.   

Ben looks up sheepishly. "Um, yeah. I'm going."   

Luke makes a noise of surprise, looking between him and Hux. "No kidding? Which god do I have to thank for this small miracle?"   

The embarrassed silence is answer enough.   

"You really need to tell me your secret," Luke stage-whispers to Hux.  

***  

"Why are you looking at Ben Solo like that?" Phasma asks him, setting her tray down across from him. Blocking his view. "Usually it's the other way around."  

Hux snaps back into focus. "What?" He puffs himself up, partly to look intimidating and partly to see over Phasma's broad shoulders. "I don't know what you're talking about."  

Mitaka looks at him worriedly. "You're saying you've never noticed? I used to think he was going to corner you and shove you into a locker or something."  

"Then we caught him leaving that note  _on_ your locker," Phasma snorts. "You know, last Valentine's Day? Then we figure, oh, he's okay, just a little lovesick and weird."  

" _He's_  the one who . . .?!"  _Roses are red, violets aren't_ _really blue they're violet, I don't get rhymes but_ _you're really smart +_ _cute +_ _I love you have a great day_ _._ "I don't believe it."  

"Believe it, Red." Phasma dumps an extra slice of pizza she'd gotten from God knows where onto Hux's tray. "He had to pay us fifty bucks each not to rat him out."  

"Fifty bucks. Some friends you are," Hux mutters. "Jesus. He's really . . ." He puts a hand over his mouth. "Oh my god. He really is."  

"Fuck, look at him, he's blushing," Phasma says, nudging Mitaka. "I think love's found Armie Hux, wouldn't you say, Dopheld my boy?"  

Mitaka flicks away an imaginary tear, the melodramatic little fucker. "Sunrise, sunset, Charlize."  

Hux stands jerkily to his feet. "You can have my lunch, you shits. I've got to . . . do something."  

Phasma grabs Mitaka's shoulder. "Oh my god, I think he's going to propose."  

"I feel like a proud parent."  

"You're not funny." Hux stalks over to Ben's table. Ben's expression goes from surprise to hope to joy to confusion in a span of seconds. 

"Meet me in the bathroom around the corner in five minutes," he says before pushing his way out of the cafeteria before he can hear his reply. He paces by the stalls, hands balled into fists at his sides. The taste of copper is strong in his mouth but he goes on chewing his lip until Ben ducks in a minute later.  

"What's wrong?" 

"Oh, I don't know. Other than the fact you couldn't find a belt and your jeans are threatening to expose me with every step? I'm freaking the hell out!" He runs a hand through hair that's already wild from such treatment. "First your friends tell me you're—you're  _in love with me_ , and that's one thing, I can write that off as asshole friends being asshole friends, I've got my share of those. But then your  _uncle—_ and this." He takes the slightly rumpled photo from his pocket and unfolds it, holds it to Ben's face like a crucifix. "You're Ben. You're  _Ben_ , and you didn't tell me."  

"I thought you knew," Ben says miserably. "At first. I would have, I just . . . I was afraid you'd tell me to stay away from you."  

"I've wondered if you were real or not, safe or not, alive and well or dead and buried in someone's backyard for most of my life, Ben! And what the hell happened that night, do you care to explain that?" A freshman wanders in and freezes at the sight of Hux's manic gesturing. "Get out, get out!"  

The younger boy scurries off and Hux clutches the sides of a sink, feeling strangely dizzy. "Oh God, that's so unsanitary," he mutters, immediately washing his hands. "Ben? I'm waiting."  

"I . . . I don't know where to begin."  

"You could start with 'once upon a time . . .' That's how these things usually start, isn't it?"  

He doesn't like Ben's concerned expression either, he decides. "Hux, breathe." 

Hux takes in a gasping breath, aware his face must be a disturbing shade of purple from holding it. "I'm breathing! Don't try to deflect. What game are you playing here, exactly?" Ben's gone fuzzy all of a sudden. The filthy floor looks like an impossibly good idea right now, and he slides down onto it just before his knees give out, and Ben's moving closer to him now, closer and closer. He's all he can see. 

"Hux. Hux, you need to breathe, okay? Can you take a deep breath? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me?" 

Hux squeezes, though he'd been unaware he'd taken his hand. He barely feels it. 

Through the lens of his asphyxiated mind, Ben seems to be looking down at him from the far end of a straw. At this distance, his features are smudged, the merest of suggestions. His black sweatshirt could almost be mistaken for a coat of armor.  

"I'm dreaming, aren't I?" He laughs. He'd been so sure this madness was real, but Kylo Ren, in his most familiar knightly garb, is cupping his face, wiping sweat from his brow. This makes much more sense to him.  

"That's right, Hux, you're dreaming," says Kylo Ren, strangely frantic. "Now breathe with me, alright?" Kylo Ren takes a long, deep breath, so of course Hux does too. "Good, that's good! Again."  

They breathe together until Hux feels more solid and he becomes slowly aware of the soreness in his knee where he'd hit the floor. He's not dreaming and yet Kylo Ren is still there, holding him, and Hux stares up into Ben's face in wonder.  

"Ben," he says groggily. "You're Ben."  

"Yeah, I'm Ben," Kylo Ren says, cheeks dark with tear tracks. "You're okay now, it's okay. You just fainted, that's all."  

Hux reaches out, as though to touch him, but can't quite bring himself to do it. Or maybe he does. Maybe his hands are numb. He can see his fingers tracing the line of Ben's jaw, yet he doesn't feel a thing.  

He whispers, "You're Ben, you're . . . It's  _you_."  

He's looking at Ben, but then, for a moment, there's nothingness, silence.  

Then, "Hey, Ben, I'm making breakfast, you mind taking Chewie out for me?"  

Hux stirs, finding strands of hair plastered to his forehead where he'd broken into a sweat in the night, tucked in Ben's arms, the boy's nose tickling the back of his neck.  

"Sure, Uncle Luke," Ben calls to his uncle on the other side of the door. He doesn't move for a minute, his grip around him tightening momentarily as though he's loathe to let go.  

"You awake?" he asks softly.  

Hux doesn't respond. He listens to the sounds of Ben rolling out of bed, stretching and groaning, a pause in which Hux suspects Ben's watching him supposedly sleep. Then he goes out, shutting the door behind him.  

Breakfast goes exactly the same except Hux is now fully aware that something is wrong. 

\---   

"Are you going home to get dressed? You don't have to. I'd, um, I'd feel better if you didn't, actually. I've got clothes you can borrow. " Ben's halfway in his closet, throwing jeans and t-shirts over his shoulder haphazardly. Hux sits on Ben's bed, one leg crossed over the other, hands clasped on his knee, watching. He'd heard Luke's car leave nearly an hour ago. They're both damp from the quick showers they'd taken and Hux swipes droplets out of his eyes with the edge of his towel. 

"I rather think you like me wearing your clothes," Hux says. Ben turns to him with a guilty look. "As evidenced by your reaction in the kitchen. Your face was blood red. It's a wonder your uncle didn't catch on to your little . . ." He glances down pointedly at his crotch. "Problem." 

"I'm sorry, Hux, really, it's just . . . You were in my . . . You looked . . ." 

"What?" He laughs. "Now, Ben. Don't tell me you have a _crush_." He tilts his head, curiously taking in the way Ben ducks his head and turns away, hands fisted at his sides. "That's it, isn't it?" 

"We don’t have time to talk about this now," Ben mumbles into the closet. "We're going to be late. You don't want to mess up your perfect attendance, right?" 

Hux says nothing. Waits for Ben to notice him stretched out in his bed. 

"What do you have first period? I have anatomy." 

"I have anatomy, too," Hux says, sliding the towel off and letting it drop to the floor. 

"Yeah? Can we sit together?" 

"No." 

"Oh? Oh." A fist loosens, tightens. Hux feels cruel, in his element, at hearing the twitch of emotion in the boy's voice. "Okay." 

"Ben, look at me," Hux says with a sigh, taking pity. "We're not going to school." 

Finally, Ben turns around. He doesn't seem to process what he sees for a moment, but then his mouth opens and no sound escapes for several seconds. 

It's a fight to keep from feeling insecure, but Hux manages. He 's not sure yet exactly what Ben wants, but it's not hard to guess how badly he wants him. "You like what you see, Solo?" 

"Hux," Ben whines, features twisted like he's in pain. Judging by the rising line of his tight jeans, he may well be. 

"Come here. Sit on the edge. Closer. Yes, like that. Watch yourself, no touching." Ben complies. Though his hand jumps like it reflexively means to reach out, he stills it, looking at Hux expectantly. 

Hux smirks. "Good boy." Hux drags fingers over his own neck, tracking the hunger in Ben's eyes. 

"I have a theory, Ben. Would you like to hear it?" 

Ben slowly, slowly shakes his head. "I don't think so." 

"Oh, I think you do. You see, I think you can manipulate me so I think I'm dreaming. Can't you?" 

Ben gasps. "You know who I am?" 

"Yes. Do you know what you did?" 

"I . . . I'm not sure what you mean." 

"I'm talking about how you wiped my entire day from existence and I ended up back where I started, this morning, in this bed. You've got me trapped in Groundhog Day, Ben." He holds up a hand when Ben opens his mouth to speak. "I'm not angry," he says carefully. 

Ben's eyes turn wide and watery after a full minute. "I remember now. I remember. I'm so sorry. I panicked. I've never done that before, I didn't even know I could." 

Hux ignores him. "I _will_  be angry if you try that again. If you _ever_  warp my sense of reality again, you will lose me. Do you understand?" Ben's eyes are downcast, and Hux snaps, "Tell me that you understand, Kylo Ren." 

It's a strange thing to say aloud, like naming one's soul in the generic light of a doctor's office, but it gets the desired result. Ben falls to his knees beside the bed, grasping his hands in his own. 

"Oh, Hux." He kisses his fingers one by one. "Hux." 

Hux draws his chin up with a finger. "What was that?" 

"I understand," Ben gasps. "I won't, never again. I promise you." 

"Quit nuzzling me like that, you're embarrassing yourself." Hux wonders if he can sense how he's basking in the attention, if he can smell it on him. "I'll only say this once,  _Ren,_ " he says, drawing the R out mockingly. "Take us downstairs."  

The star sticker-studded, clothes-strewn bedroom and the scent of sweat and anxiety gradually dissolve, and then Hux is standing in Ben's kitchen with the boy kneeling at his feet. For some reason, he's now wearing clothes, but he's grateful for it. He can only play the self-confident fatale for so long. 

He taps his shoulder, then the other, briefly caressing his cheek as he pulls back. "You may rise."  

Ben lunges to his feet, so fast that he has to grab him to maintain his balance. Ben looms over him, breathing unevenly.  

"Hux." His voice is so rough. This isn't like in dreams. "I've always wanted to meet you, I just never thought . . . I assumed you wouldn't want anything to do with me, not when I'm." He gestures to himself. "I could never live up to . . . I never even imagined . . ." He looks at Hux then and staggers back, and Hux is as pleased as he is disturbed to realize he can read his mind.  

"You're disappointed," Ben says flatly.  

Hux doesn't confirm or deny.  

"You see why I've stayed away," he says, turning. Hux studies his profile. He's handsome in a way that appeals so strongly to Hux he almost wonders if he's a shapeshifter (and wouldn't that be the least surprising revelation of this affair?): endearingly large nose, scattering of black beauty marks, the oversized pouty lips currently twitching from some pent-up emotion.  

"You're lovely," Hux says simply. "That's the problem."  

Ben looks over at him jerkily, eyes wide and confused.  

"I'm not interested in being friends, Solo. I want a monster."  

"I am," Ben says fervently, taking Hux by the shoulders and hauling him close, close enough to feel the heat of his body, and the juxtaposition of Ben Solo's awkward, naïve earnestness and the cold composure of the ancient Kylo Ren he can feel rumbling just beneath the skin like an engine, some foreign unwieldy energy that could and would rip the both of them to shreds if given the slightest leeway, makes Hux dizzy with unearthly terror and desire.  

Ben insists, "I can be. You have no idea."  

Hux smiles slightly, shaking his head. Forces himself to step away and round the table and sit, put some distance between them so he can think straight. "Not in the way I mean." Still testing. He sighs exaggeratedly. "But you do at least  _posture_  as a morbid son of a bitch, and so I think we can be mutually beneficial to each other. Would you like to help me?"  

Ben's grips the spine of a chair between them, nails threatening to claw through the wood. A vein bulges in his temple. " _Hux._ "  

"You don't scare me, you know." Hux rests his chin in his hand, examining him dispassionately. "Come here. Show me how much restraint you have."  

Ben comes to him slowly, jittery and obedient like a stray dog that had once been tame. But a good dog. Hux smiles, wonders at the slightly hurt but hazy expression Ben wears if he heard that thought.  

"I'm going to touch you, okay? I won't if you tell me no, but if you tell me yes you had better not move."  

Ben bites his lips, nods.  

Without further warning, Hux grabs the bulge in his jeans, giving it a light squeeze.  

"Oh fuck," Ben whines, stepping closer. " _Please_." 

"No." Hux folds his hands on the table and glares at him. "You're a greedy child. How do you expect me to rely on you when you have the mind and body of an adolescent?"  

"Not the mind," Ben grits out, hips still twitching fruitlessly against empty air.  

"Perhaps not, but it certainly suffers for the body." Hux considers him for a moment before standing and slipping into his space until only inches separate them. "If I helped you in this way, could you give yourself to me completely? Lay aside your biology and your morals and do whatever is asked of you?"  

"You don't have to do that." Ben pushes him away half-heartedly. "I would never ask you to trade yourself for my obedience. That's not what this is."  

"But if it's what I wanted?" Hux stands on tiptoe to cover the unfortunate two inches Ben has on him to rub their cheeks together. "What then?"  

"Then I . . . I would encourage you to take what you wanted." Hux pulls back and they stare at each other for a long moment before Hux leans in again, this time to coax Ben's lips apart with his tongue.  

There's a pause when Ben doesn't respond, stiff, and Hux starts to retreat, thinking he's made him uncomfortable. But Ben gasps and ducks down to kiss him back, moaning as his oversized hands paw at Hux's – really Ben's – shirt, trying to reach his skin. Hux catches his wrists and draws them to his hips instead, pulling back to watch as Ben licks his lips, eyes closed.  

"You taste like me," he breathes. "I don't know how I couldn't have expected it. So much of us is the same." His eyes flutter open, feverish. They're a sickly yellow, and Hux draws back involuntarily. "Didn't you know? How long I've belonged to you and you to me? We're two halves of the same monster, Hux, you and I. Always." He blinks, and his eyes are once again Ben's signature sick-puppy brown. "Kiss me again," he whines, peppering pouty little kisses across Hux's nose, cheeks, neck. 

"Y-You're so needy," Hux rasps, rattled and slightly overwhelmed, before throwing his arms around Kylo Ren's neck. 

"You have something to ask me, just spit it out already," Ben says against his lips. He's gotten awfully pale. "I know what you're going to say. You know I'm going to say yes." 

Hux says, "I need you to kill my father." 

Ben says, "Yes."


	5. Chapter 5

**January, 1999**  

Months pass greedily, the happiest and least stress-filled Hux has known in his life. Luke doesn't seem to mind he's suddenly living in his house and even encourages him to fill out college applications for the fall, promising he'll help pay his tuition. Though he lives fairly modestly, an inheritance from his late father has him richer than God, Luke assures him, and he's basically offering him pocket change.  

Hux studiously doesn't think about how at least part of his motivation for the plot against his father had been to collect the insurance money before Brendol had a chance to write him out of his will.  

If Hux is known for perfect attendance, Ben is known for skating the edge of so many absences he risks expulsion. Ben shocks everybody when he starts not only showing up, but participating in class and improving his grades dramatically.  

Hux shouldn’t feel relieved to find him standing sentinel at his locker every morning. He doesn’t make for good company. He’s an unsettling, gloomy figure, almost always trailed by anywhere from two to six equally sinister figures. He always says the wrong thing. He’s always getting in trouble with inconvenient consequences just for the hell of it. And Hux wouldn’t be lonely without him, of course. He still has Phasma and Mitaka. Not that he needs anyone. He’s had experience at steering clear of his peers and surpassing them all in academics, and he could go back to that if he had to.  

But . . .  

“Move, asshole,” he says to the grinning mass in his path.  

“Hey, babe,” Ben says in return. He leans down to kiss him on the cheek and Hux allows it, for some reason. He must be getting ill. “I stole a copy of your schedule for this semester, we have first period together.”  

“Is that supposed to please me?” He shoves Ben out of the way and puts his extra books in his locker. “You better not distract me, you know I need that A.”  

“Hux, you’re a genius, you’re going to get an A no matter what.”  

The shine to Ben's soft, imploring brown eyes shoots a strange pain through Hux he's never felt before; it occurs to him that at some point he must have fallen in love and he nearly swallows his own tongue.  

“Sit next to me,” he grumbles, turning on his heel and pushing through the crowd to get ahead of him.  

His nose heals. A little crooked, but well enough. He goes back to his own house only once, Ben standing in the front door like a watchdog, to grab his shit. The only thing he has left of his mother's is a picture and a single flower earring he found stuck in the carpet once. Everything else, her clothes, photo albums, jewelry, or knickknacks his father had destroyed or sold years ago.  

He and Ben don't talk about Brendol. He hasn't come back around and Hux is starting to think maybe it will just stay that way; one day he'll show up ready to bully him and he'll just be gone, somewhere far, far away becoming healthy and successful. The thought makes him ache with hope and something like guilt. The truth is, living with Luke and Ben and not having to worry for his own health and safety every second has made him less bloodthirsty.  

But at night, when he's alone, the sight of the lonely flower earring cupped in his hand makes him want his father's head. 

 

~~~  

 

He dreams an old dream, the first that promised violence:  

 _Hux, ten years old, has been hiding from his father for days, slinking around the corners of rooms, only venturing out for food at night. Ever since Brendol had dangled him over the railing Hux has had visions of himself or his mother lying broken, twisted on the floor, eyes vacant. It's dark and his footsteps are too loud, they're too loud. He only wants a glass of water._   

 _His_ _bare foot_ _sinks into something hard. A body._   

 _His body. Head cracked open, limbs askew._   

 _He scrambles backwards, water forgotten, only to be shoved hard into the wall. Brendol sneers at him, fingers digging through his flesh to the bone where they grip his upper arms._   

 _"You see what you made me do,"_ _he_ _spits_ _. "Look and see what you made me do."_   

 _He looks, but his mangled corpse is gone now._ _Brendol_ _strikes like a snake. He's shoved into the wall, a meaty forearm crushing his windpipe._   

 _"What are you doing, squirt?" He presses down harder, choking off his air. "You know I don't like having you creeping around the house. You running away again?"_   

 _"N-No."_   

 _"You sure?" His arm grinds in harder, harder. Hux is desperately gasping for air but no noise escapes him. "You're a pain in my ass, is what you are. Always sneaking around, always talking back to me. I don't like worthless little pests being in my house, Armitage. You know what happens to pests, don't you?"_   

 _"You wouldn't dare," Hux snarls with the last of his breath. "Mum would leave you."_   

 _Brendol's little more than a disembodied grin suspended in air, a sickening Cheshire smile, and the truth in his own words shocks Hux._   

 _"Yes, I suppose she would," Brendol says conversationally. "You hold her back, you know. She might have been somebody if she hadn't gotten pregnant with you. She had real talent, potential." He shakes his head, tsking. "Rotten luck. that's what you are. You're the one who ruined her life, not me. I'll tell you what: I can end it right here. You'll be doing her a favor. You want to help your mother, don't you?"_   

 _"Yes," he whispers. "More than anything."_   

 _Brendol's smile is shark-like, blood already dripping from his teeth. "There's a good lad."_  

 _His revolver's in his hand with the suddenness of dream logic and it's pressed to his temple, cool and final. Hux closes his eyes and waits, hoping this is enough to save his mother._   

 _A black flash darker than the inside of his eyelids passes over him, and he blinks, finding himself alone in the darkness._   

 _But he's not alone. The shadows part and Kylo Ren steps out of them like a statue in the mist._   

 _"Ending your life won't save her, Hux," he tells him. "You can try to help her, but believe me, your death wouldn't help."_   

 _"I don't know what to do anymore," he whimpers, covering his face with his hands. "I'm scared. I don't know what to do. I just, I wish I was dead. I wish_ he _was dead. I want him dead."_  

 _He looks up after what feels like hours, and he's standing in his_ _father's_ _office_ _. Brendol's looking over paperwork, glasses perched on the tip of his nose, like he doesn't register his presence._  

 _The gun's in Hux's hand, now._   

 _He crosses the distance between them hesitantly, uncertainly. Brendol finally looks up, glaring murderously._  

 _"What are you staring at?" he snaps at him. "I don't remember giving you permission to come in here." He tosses aside his work and stands, chair scraping. "I guess I have to teach you some manners, else I'll never have any peace."_   

 _Hux instinctively backs away. Experience has proven that if he can reach the door and makes a mad dash for the stairs, he has about a 60% chance of outrunning the old man. If he can reach the front door, he'll let him go. He just has to . . ._   

 _But no._   

 _He's not in his_ _father's_ _office_ _. He's in his memory of his_ _father's_ _office_ _._   

 _And it might not really be his father lunging at him, but it still feels good to watch the shock and rage and fear flash in his eyes when he turns off the safety._  

 _A voice that isn't his father's, nor is it his, though he knows it just as intimately, seeming to vibrate down his brain stem:_   

Let it feed you. Let it strengthen you. Don't be afraid.   

 _His father's hateful glare dissolves as Hux pulls the trigger._   

Don't be afraid.   

 _"I'm not!" Hux screams, shooting, shooting blindly, sobbing. "I'm not! I'm not!"_   

  

"I'm not!"   

He blinks rapidly, finding himself half-lying, half-sitting in Ben's bed, damp with sweat and chest heaving.   

The last time he'd had that particular dream he'd been almost eleven and wild with fever, and it had been his mother who'd comforted him when he woke up screaming.   

The bed dips, and suddenly Ben's there.   

"Hey, it's okay." He has a wet washcloth and he drags it over Hux's forehead. Hux melts into the cool touch. "You're alright. You're safe."   

"That first dream, where I killed him . . ." He shudders. Ben drapes an arm over his shoulders and Hux leans into his side, struggling not to cry. "If I had . . . I was so angry, if I had woken up right then I might have . . . Maybe things would be different, she could have gotten help, I should have –"   

"And wound up institutionalized for most of your life? Shhh." Ben strokes his hair. "You don't know that. She was sick a long time, Hux, and you were just a kid. Don't torture yourself. You were there when she needed you, that's all that matters." He pushes his sweat-damp hair from his forehead. "You can cry, you know. It doesn't make you weak."  

"Yes it does," he whispers, but it's too late, the tears run freely and he clings to Ben as though he'd float away from his own body if he let go, muffling his sobs into his chest. He quickly realizes he does feel better. As though he'd been holding his breath for years and finally allowed to release it.  

After that, they're silent a long time. Hux slowly comes back to himself, to the ambiguous Now, and Ben holds his hand.  

"I was so miserable," Hux says after what might be hours. "So guilty all the time for things that weren't my fault. I didn't understand that then. To this day, sometimes I still don't. It took time, a lot of time and learning, to realize he hurt us because he wanted to, not because I provoked him. So long, I wanted to be good. I wanted . . . I had to be perfect." He looks to Ben helplessly with damp eyes. "I don't want to be bad, Ben."   

"Oh no," Ben gasps, cupping his cheek as gently as Hux thinks he's capable of being gentle. "Oh no, Hux, you're not bad."   

"I am," Hux whispers. "I'm evil. It's so deep in me, it'll never wash out. There's no prying it out, no outgrowing it. I'm stuck with it. That's what kills me. Not that he ruined me like he did. But that he didn't. I was born with this hatred in me. I don't want it. I want to be good."   

"Hux –"  

"And if you tell me I already am, I'll sock you in the nose."  

Ben starts to say it anyway and then just sighs, dropping his head to Hux's shoulder. "I guess there's no arguing against that logic." He takes his hand again, pressing it to his lips. "Maybe being good's overrated anyway, huh?"  

Hux smirks but doesn't say anything. Another heavy but comfortable silence passes between them and Hux itches to point it out to Ben at the risk of sounding delusional: _Doesn't it feel like we've been here before?_  

He doesn't mention it. 

"Tell me about you," he says instead, voice hoarse. "About what you were up to you all those years we were apart."  

"I don't like to think about that," Ben says in a tone that makes Hux look up.   

"Hey," he says, surprised. "Was it that awful?"   

He blinks hard, dragging his thousand-yard stare back to Hux. "Oh. No, it wasn't so bad." He wraps his arms around him and squeezes so tight Hux lets out an undignified squeak. "I was raised by my mother, mostly. Han was only around when it was convenient."   

"Han? Your father?"   

Ben snorts.   

Hux cracks a smile. "I see."  

"I mean, it really wasn't like that. They love each other a lot, my parents. I think that's what made it bearable. But they hated each other too. Screaming, leaving, coming back months later. They were just too much for each other, and it burned them up that they couldn’t make it work." Ben sits up suddenly, grabbing a picture from the nightstand. He shows it to Hux. It's a picture of a man sitting on a motorcycle, and he clearly has Ben’s squinty-eyed smile. 

"Han Solo," Ben says. "I idolized him when growing up. He never could say the right thing to me, but he always tried. I've found lately I act like him sometimes, and a long time ago I would have done anything to distance myself from him as much as possible. Now, I don't mind it so much."  

"But you don't call him your father?" Hux asks, curious.  

Ben looks at him, shrugs. "He was never around much, like I said. But we're alright now. It almost makes me wish . . .” He bites his lip and sets the picture aside. “Ah, what am I saying.” He holds his arms out, and Hux crawls into them, wondering what Ben is thinking. 

“Did you miss me?” he asks suddenly, the words a surprise even to him, but he finds he’s been pondering them for months, is burning to know the answer. “When we were apart? I mean, did you feel it?” 

He doesn’t respond. The clock on Ben’s nightstand flicks from 1:34 to 2:18. Hux thinks he’s fallen asleep and doesn’t blame him, resigning himself back to sleep as well. Then, just as the headily familiar world of dreams sweeps him under, he hears Ben’s voice, unmistakably: 

“Does it hurt when you lose a lung?” 

  

 

Hux dreams he’s a bolt of fire shooting across the sky, hurtling towards something so much bigger than himself and when he arrives he’ll destroy it, and maybe himself too. The stars watch him coldly from all sides, judging what he’s done and has yet to do. He doesn't know if he’s sorry before he wakes up drenched in sweat. 

Ben is asleep behind him, mouth open on the back of his neck. Hux struggles between a stab of fondness and the urge to swat him in the head for drooling on him. 

He reeks of sweat and so peels away from Ben and strips out of his clothes without turning on the light, grabbing a flashlight out of the nightstand instead. No need in waking Ben again. He doubts either he or his uncle would mind him taking a shower in the middle of the night. He takes them fairly often anyway, he can never get clean enough for his liking. He stands in the hot spray a long time after he’s scrubbed his skin raw, just letting his mind wander into blissful fuzziness. Finally, he reluctantly shuts off the water and dries off, tiptoeing back into Ben’s room and going to the dresser to find a change of clothes. He forgets which one is his drawer and reaches in blindly, feeling socks and something cool to the touch, metallic. The rungs of a notebook. 

Idly curious, he flips it open, expecting to find discarded notes for school or maybe an old journal. Instead he finds his own face. 

On paper, he is far older. Laugh lines crease his face and he's filled out, still thin, but not abnormally so. A heavy crown tilted low over his brow hides his eyes, but his crooked smile is the centerpoint of the drawing. He sits slouched in cocky relaxation (or relief?) on a throne encrusted in bones and jewels. Phasma is on his left side, smartly dressed in some sort of uniform, a futuristic-looking gun hanging at her hip. She's wearing a helmet much like Kylo's and her featureless face stares out at the viewer, but Hux knows it's her, remembers her being in that dream –  

" _Sir_ , _this_ _is_ _no_ _time_ _for_ _hysterics_. _We_ _don't_ _even_ _know_ _for_ _certain_ _he's_ _dead_ —"    

Hux shakes his head, an attempt to shake the stray thought from his mind. Phasma hadn't said that in the dream. He must still be half-asleep. He looks back at the drawing.    

On his right side is, of course, Kylo Ren. Instead of standing at attention like Phasma, he's bent down to whisper into Hux's ear, an arm propped against the back of the throne, gloved hand resting on Hux's shoulder. 

“What are you doing?” 

Hux jumps, nearly dropping the notebook. “Ben, I’m sorry, I wasn’t snooping, I just -” 

Ben spots the notebook and shakes his head. “It’s okay. Really.” He gets out Hux’s clothes and hands them to him, giving him a warm smile before going to sit down on the bed. 

Hux sighs, taking a minute to get dressed before taking the notebook, sitting in front of Ben and continuing to look. 

“It felt so real,” he muses, staring at his smile, trying to remember what Kylo had said to him— 

 _" He screamed like a youngling, Hux. He begged for your mercy and when I told him there was none to be had I think he pissed himself —"_  

“You like that one?” Ben prompts almost shyly. 

“Yes,” Hux breathes. He traces the charcoal lines of Kylo Ren's back with a fingertip. “This was always one of my favorites.” 

It was impossible to say whether he was smiling because of what Kylo Ren said, or because of the spear he held bearing the impaled head of Brendol Hux like a conquered nation's flag. 

He turns the page slowly, trying not to wince at the sheer strangeness and intimacy of seeing his subconscious mind made painfully visual. In the next, he’s a bit younger than he was in the first, but at least ten years older than he is now. 

His face is screwed up either in pain or extreme pleasure, hair fallen out of place and stuck to his forehead, and a black gloved hand grips his bare hip so hard it creates deep lines sketched in pencil. He feels himself flush. He certainly does _not_ remember this dream. 

 _Come on, General,_ taunts that goddamn impossible voice in his mind, Kylo Ren and not Kylo Ren. _Remind me who I belong to. I think I might have,_ _umf_ _, forgotten while I was away. Might have to punish me, make me yours all over again._  

“Jesus,” Hux whispers. 

“Hmm?” Ben leans forward to see, then slaps a hand over his mouth, instantly an unnatural shade of red. “Oh, uh.” 

They’ve fooled around a little since the day Hux discovered who Ben really was, but not like this. In the drawing, there are ugly bite marks scattered across his neck and chest and Kylo Ren’s knees hooked over his shoulders, his nails digging into Kylo’s thigh. 

“I’m keeping this one,” Hux jokes weakly to break the tension. Ben cracks open an eye to look at him, still blushing furiously. 

Needing to assure him, he continues, "These are very good, Ben." The next drawing, and the next, and the one after that are of situations that are instantly recognizable: Kylo Ren standing behind the throne and placing the crown on his head, he and Kylo Ren walking down a dark hallway with their heads bent together, sitting next to Kylo's bedside in some sort of hospital with his head in his hands. It pricks something buried deep in his mind, but he shrugs it off. "Your ability to recall detail, it's -"  

"Oh," Ben says, surprised. "I wasn't recalling anything." He gestures to the drawings. "That's what I did to keep awake while you were dreaming."

Hux gapes at him. "You mean you were _awake_ the entire time?"  

"I . . ." Ben shrugs helplessly. "Yeah. I had to be, to project myself. If I'd fallen asleep, there was a chance I might not wake up again." He plucks at a loose thread on the covers, intent on not looking up at Hux. "It's pretty taxing, I guess."  

Hux starts to say something, but then decides against it. He's probably not awake enough for this conversation. Instead he goes back to flipping through the drawings, pausing on one near the back. 

He's wearing a uniform, long black coat, hat, gloves; a striking contrast to the expanse of white around him, and Hux has the distinct impression it's snow by the way tiny pieces of his image are missing. He's looking over his shoulder, a wry hint of a smile on his lips. As though he's just shared a joke with the artist only they'll ever know.   

The caption is simply _Starkiller_. 

"I don't remember this one," Hux admits, "But I like it." He's long been obsessed with growing older and more sure of himself, more comfortable in his own skin, and the man in this picture clearly isn't one to be trifled with. "Why 'Starkiller'?" 

Ben doesn't say anything, stiff before him. Hux nudges him playfully, thinking he's just being shy. "You're an incredible artist, Ben," he continues, ignoring Ben's shift in attitude. "It's so lifelike, it's like looking at a photograph."   

Ben takes it from him with a haunted expression.   

"I forgot about this one," he says, voice distant. He goes on staring for a long moment, lips trembling. "I . . . Sorry." He sighs shakily. "Sorry. Seeing these again . . ." He shakes his head, taking up his drawings and going to put them back in their drawer. He stays there a long moment, hands braced on the dresser, head bowed.   

"Ben?" Hesitantly Hux follows him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Everything okay?"   

"Yeah, just . . ." He turns and grabs Hux into a hug. "You're right here, and I miss you at the same time. Explain that one." He huffs, pulling away. "Let's go back to bed, okay? I'll keep the nightmares away this time, I won’t slack. Promise."  

"I never understand half the things that come out of your mouth," Hux says exasperatedly, "But fine. You're really okay?"  

"Are you?" he shoots back.  

"Fair enough." Hux takes his hand and they go back to bed. Ben makes the fake stars shiver and dance across the ceiling until Hux is swept into peaceful, uneventful dreams.  

 

~~~ 

 

"We hold court in five." 

"I'm at your command, as always, my emperor." 

Ben's down on one knee before Hux, arms outstretched, in an imitation of Kylo Ren that might be a little more impressive if his nose and cheeks weren't rosy with cold and his coat wasn't inside-out. 

"Stand up, you little shit, you're going to get sick. We're keeping this one short because it's 20 degrees and –" He pulls off a glove momentarily to feel Ben's face. " – Yeah, you feel like ice. We could just do it inside but I know how you are about maintaining _the aesthetic._ So let's hurry up and get it over with." 

There’s that strange shift in his eyes that Hux knows he’ll never get used to, the only observable sign that the awkward, vulgar, needy teenage Ben Solo is just a disguise for . . . something else. Ben’s voice is disconcertingly soft when he says, “Whatever you wish, sir. Your trials are mine. As long as you live, I’ll be at your disposal.” 

“Okay, weirdo,” Hux says. “Can you please, please, just do what I ask without talking like that?” 

Ben sighs. “I don’t know why you insist on rejecting my love for you.” He stands up, and it satisfies Hux immensely that he slips on the frozen ground a little. He tugs on one of the extra jackets Hux brought, just in case. It isn’t quite big enough, but Ben buries his face into the sleeve with a stupid smile. “Smells like you.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” Hux says, turning quickly. “Come if you’re coming.” 

The nearby junkyard is barren of anything but junk and the odd flock of birds. A worn, grimy pair of armchairs are situated near the center of the towers of discarded household items and bulging garbage bags. Ben flops down on his, legs sprawled over the arm with the spring missing, and Hux settles down gingerly on his, crossing one leg over the other. Kings of waste. 

“First order of business,” he says, “I saw your report card." 

Ben's eyebrows shoot up. "That bad?" 

"Not at all. It was very good. You got four A's and a B. You've improved quite a bit, B – Kylo. Come here." 

Ben gets up and comes to stand before him, fidgeting a little. 

"Nervous, Kylo Ren?" 

"No, sir. I trust you." 

Hux smiles. "Good." He beckons him to lean down and kisses him on the lips, four times. "I'm proud of you. See what can happen when you actually apply yourself?" 

"You're a pretty good motivation," Ben mumbles with a smile. 

Hux kisses him again. "Just because," he says in answer to Ben's expression, blushing a little. He gestures for Ben to sit back down and waits until he's at a distance again before saying, "Second order of business." He just barely refrains from putting a hand up to cover his face. His voice is barely audible as it is. "Are we boyfriends?" 

Ben blinks owlishly. "Aren't we?" 

Hux shrugs, painfully embarrassed. "I don't know, I've never . . . Isn't one of us supposed to ask to, you know . . . make it official?" 

"Hux." Ben moves to him and is kneeling again, ignoring Hux's protests. "I love you and want to spend the rest of my natural life with you and then some. Will you be my boyfriend?" 

 _"You've needed me since your dastardly little plan came into conception, General, but the knife twisting in the wound is that now you_ want _me, too. Don't try to deny it, you know I can see your mind._ _Well, you can rest easy, because I've wanted you from the moment_ _I first saw you._ _Careful_ _, Hux._ _If I didn't know better I'd say we were in love._ _And i_ _f he knows we're in love, we're finished_ _."_  

Hux blinks hard, and finds himself sitting in Mr. Skywalker's living room with a bowl of popcorn in his lap and the ghost feeling of Kylo Ren holding his face. He can see Ben in his peripheral vision, little more than a shadow colored in by the flickering blue of the TV screen. Mr. Skywalker's on his other side, laughing at something on the television. 

"Buh-Ben," Hux whispers. The bowl tumbles to the floor. Luke doesn't so much as look over. 

"I wouldn't worry about it, kids," he says, "If the world _does_ end in 2000, how would that work? Just like flipping a light switch? Just like that? All those lives blinking out in an instant. Like we were never here at all." 

Hux trembles so hard his teeth chatter audibly. "Ben. I think something's wrong with me. No. _Something is wrong with me_." 

Ben turns to look at him, slowly. "Well, no." Ben flickers before his eyes and for a few seconds there is a deep, angry red scar bisecting his face, his hair is lanky and hangs down past his chin and a thin line of blood trickles from the corner of his lips. "It's me. I'm sorry, Hux, I can't hold him off much longer. I'm so sorry, I'm ruining it. Just give me a seco - " 

He's sitting in the armchair in the junkyard again. Ben is still taking a knee, awaiting his answer, teeth chattering. 

"Ren," he sobs, physically biting his tongue to keep from saying anything to startle him. _Are you really in hell if you're happy?_  "Yes, I'll be your boyfriend. Of course I will." 

Ben grins, and the scar shifts with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long! School took over a lot of my time and then I lost where I was going with the story for awhile, but I'm back on track now.
> 
> Trigger warnings for graphic child abuse starting at "Hux, ten years old..." and suicidal ideation starting at "Brendol's little more than a disembodied grin..."


	6. Chapter 6

The first thing that Hux notices is that what he at first takes to be the beginnings of a distant thunderstorm that never goes away sounds a bit like howling, when he truly focuses. He soon learns it's better not to focus. 

The second thing is that there are two Bens. It's obvious now and he wonders how long it's been this way. One is a consolation of sorts, an eighteen year old's version of a stuffed bear named Millicent. He believes he's Kylo Ren but is separate from him; he's ultimately a sweet-natured, hormonal young man. This Ben genuinely doesn't know why Hux is suddenly so fascinated by the scar, he's had it since before they ever met. It's present in all of his childhood pictures, including the Indiana Jones one Hux had found on the refrigerator. 

"My little sister and I were watching The Princess Bride," Ben explains in a tone that implies he's had to say this many times. "We were play-acting Westley and Inigo's sword fight with knives and we got a little too . . . enthusiastic." 

Hux bites off all his fingernails during this story, listening more to the howling than Ben. 

They're sitting on the floor by Ben's bed, across from the full-length mirror hanging on his closet. The _other_ Ben, really _Ren_ , is standing in the mirror, looking at something off to the side with furrowed brows. Hux doesn't think he knows that Hux notices him, which is confirmed when he turns to find him staring. Mirror-Ben gives him a wink and a dishearteningly forced smile before disappearing, leaving behind nothing but Ben, oblivious, and Hux, wide-eyed. 

He loses days. He goes to sleep on a Wednesday and wakes up on Monday, and no one else finds it unusual. Ben mentions something funny Hux said the day before. His trig teacher hands back a test he scored a 100 on that Thursday. 

"It's April," he says wretchedly one morning, shuffling into the kitchen to find Ben and Luke having breakfast. 

They both freeze with spoonfuls of cereal halfway to their mouths and give each other a look. 

"Yeah," Ben says slowly. "So?" 

"So yesterday was March 13th," he mutters. "Nothing," he says aloud. He goes back to bed for six or possibly seven days. He loses count, no longer has much interest in what's happening to him. 

On the morning of his graduation, he kicks Ben out of his own room and runs his hands over the suit he's going to wear for a long moment, reminding himself it's real. As long as he feels it under his touch, smells the old-mothball smell, the dust from where it's hung in the closet so long, it's real. He's dreamed of his graduation since he first started school, and nothing, not even the loss of his sanity, is going to ruin this for him. 

Ben jokes with him in the hallway while they wait to file into the gymnasium, and Hux gradually feels himself relax, even laugh, enjoying the simple feeling of flirting with his boyfriend on what might be the best day of his life so far. Out of the corner of his eye he sees someone with dirty-looking black hair and flecks of blood on his face, neck and clothes, but when he turns to look it's just Ben's reflection in the trophy case. 

The doors open, the music plays, and they march inside to their seats. When Hux's name is called he takes a deep breath, honing down to this moment, and walks up to the stage, shakes Luke's – Principal Skywalker's – hand, the metal one, and takes his certificate. 

He shouldn't have looked up, but he wanted to see Ben, no matter which Ben it is looking back. 

It's not Ben whose eyes he meets. 

Brendol is standing against the wall, arms crossed. Hux knows him well enough to know at a glance he's hugging the line between inebriated and shitfaced. A sickening, dirty feeling hits Hux in the stomach like Brendol had struck him with a fist. He's sullied his perfect moment. 

"You alright, son?" Luke asks him quietly, a steadying hand on his elbow. A murmur passes over the crowd. 

"Yeah." Brendol pushes off the wall and slinks out, letting the doors slam shut behind him. Several people sitting in the back rows turn to look. "Yeah," he repeats, stumbling off the stage and running to the restroom as fast as he can. 

He's barely done getting sick when the fire alarm goes off. In the next stall, a discarded cigarette has sparked inside a paper towel and grown into a small blaze, or Hux tells himself later that's how it starts, anyway. The emergency sprinklers are shooting off from the ceiling and people in high heels and slick-bottomed dress shoes slide across the floor, a low roar of panic filling the hall. Hux watches dumbly, absently aware of heat licking his back and thick smoke twisting around his nostrils. The air is an unnatural orange. 

 _He's not worth it, Hux._ _He's_ _the embodiment of_ _your insecurity, your guilt,_ _your fear._ _D_ _on't let it control you._  

Hux shudders. "Where are you," he mumbles aloud, looking around for Ben, any Ben. 

An unseen force pushes him between the shoulder blades and he stumbles out of the bathroom. The retreating crowd sweeps him out the door and into the mild June day. He looks up in time to watch the second floor windows explode, flames licking out into the sky. Sirens wail in the distance, but the howling is much louder. Much louder. 

"Hux!" 

Phasma grabs him by the shoulders and turns him around. "Are you alright? What happened?" At Hux's expression she takes a step back. "Holy shit, your nose." 

"Where's Ben?" Familiar sickening old-penny taste blooms on his tongue but he has no time to ponder it. "Did you see him?" 

"No. Wait, wait!" She tugs him by the arm back from the school when he tries to go back in. "What are you doing?" 

He breaks free of her and runs past the people streaming out. "Ben," he says to each face that looks his way, "Have you seen Ben Solo?" 

No one stops and he doesn't bother waiting for an answer. The smoke is worst in the gym itself, a thick, almost solid wall of dark gray smoke fanning out from the entrance. His sense of self-preservation screams at him to turn back, but he knows instinctively Ben is still in the gym. Without thinking about it, he runs into the smoke. 

"Ben! Ben, can you hear me?" 

He can't make out anything inches in front of his face and his eyes sting against the smoke. He can only reach out blindly, move as fast as he can around rows of folding chairs and abandoned purses and shoes littering the floor. He steps on something that gives, a hand or an arm, and drops to his knees. His forehead strikes against something that feels like a wooden beam, protruding straight up from the person's chest upon further inspection. There's no pulse. He winces at the wave of relief that rushes through him when he feels facial hair on the corpse's face – not Ben. 

"Ben! Ben?" 

A voice a few feet away says weakly, "I'm here . . ." 

Not Ben. Hux goes to it anyway. "Mr. Skywalker? Can you stand?" 

"I think so. Argh, it's just . . ." Something thuds heavily to the floor. "I must have passed out. I'm not sure I can lift him on my own."   

Hux's heart rate picks up. "Where is he?" 

Luke takes his hand and guides him to Ben, who seems to be lying on his back. His chest rises and falls slowly and there's nothing sticking out of him, which is a good sign, but the ceiling continues to fall down around them and the fire gets closer and closer. 

"He was trying to help me up," Luke explains quickly. "I was stuck under this thing. He passed out, either because he tripped or he inhaled too much smoke." He struggles to his feet and Hux is tasked with getting an unconscious Ben to his. 

"Ben, c'mon," he whispers. "C'mon." 

His eyes finally adjust and for a few seconds he can see Ben -  

 _the scar freshly slashed on his face, eyes blinking open as he looks up at Hux deliriously through_ _falling snow._  

Before he knows it he's stumbling towards the door with one of Ben's arms around his shoulder and his arm around Ben's waist to support him, Luke on the other side. They hobble to the exit unsteadily on four legs, Ben's dragging uselessly behind him. Hux cries out as a white-hot pain licks at his calf, but he doesn't pause. Luke says something to him he doesn't make out and he decides a moment later it probably doesn't matter as it was most likely, "The ceiling's about to cave!" which he already knows because it has. 

A glitch occurs. It's the only way he knows to describe it. 

The howling is pitched up to a deafening scream. Hot darkness descends and Hux feels his neck snap from his body and loll onto a shoulder, the rest of him smashed to a pulp beneath a ton of burning concrete. 

A second later, he's standing in a stale gray room. The abrupt absence of the howling makes his knees buckle. A three- or four-year-old girl stares at him with her mouth open, a sippy cup in her hand. Hux looks back at her, unsure of what he's seeing. At last a tired-looking woman sitting beside an automatic door says something to her in Spanish and the little girl wanders over to her. 

"You sure the kid's alright?" a man says. Someone is loudly crying. Someone else is crunching chips. A phone rings. Hux can't decipher any of it, just stares into space. 

"He's been like that since we got out. I'm worried about him, but there's nothing physically wrong with him. The doctor said he's in shock." 

The second voice sounds familiar, but why? He turns to look in the general direction it came from. A man with a cast on his leg sits while another man paces back and forth, running a hand through his hair. He doesn't quite recognize them, but they do remind him of someone else. 

"Ben?" he whispers. 

Both men look at him in surprise. 

"He speaks," the man on his feet says, carefully walking up to him like one approaches a wild animal. He lays a hand on his shoulder, and Hux is startled into meeting his eyes. "You with us now?" Hux nods stiffly. Is he? He thinks so. "Ben's gonna be fine, but he's got a minor concussion and they're keepin' him overnight, just to be safe. I'm stepping out for a smoke, why don't you come with me. Fresh air should do ya some good." It doesn't feel like a question, and with one backwards glance at the man in the cast, he follows the other man outside. 

It's either late at night or very early in the morning, because the stars are out and the lamps in the parking lot are on. The man sits on a bench and takes out a pack of Marlboros and a lighter. When he sees the way Hux is staring at the flickering flame the man grimaces and puts them away. 

"Sorry, wasn't thinking. I know I'm not anybody's go-to for comfort, kid, for that you might want to talk to Luke or Leia." He takes off his ballcap and fiddles with it, twirling it around and around in his hands. "I just wanted to thank you for going back for my son like you did. Not many people would have done that. Took guts. When I got the call . . . I mean, just the _thought_ of him . . . When I think about what might have . . . well, if he . . ." 

"Tell him that," Hux tells him. Han Solo looks up at him dumbfounded, unshed tears in his eyes. "You need to tell him how much he means to you, Solo. He needs you in his life." 

Han says nothing, and that suits him just fine. Hux rubs his neck, checking that it's solid. There's not even the hint of an ache. He listens for the howling, but there's only the sound of far-off traffic and his own uneven breathing. 

They step back inside to find Luke asleep with his arms crossed over his chest and his injured leg propped in the chair beside him, and seconds later the door leading to the back opens and a woman steps through. She has Ben's dark, expressive eyes and they look like they've seen a thousand years worth of life. When she spots Han she goes to him and rests her head on his chest for a long moment. Hux feels uncomfortable watching them and starts to turn away, but then the woman reaches out to touch his arm. 

"Ben's asking for you," she says softly. She gives him a tired smile. "He won't believe you're alright until he sees for himself." 

Hux nods at her, then to Han, and finds himself being led by a nurse to Ben's room. 

He seems to be asleep with an oxygen mask strapped to his face, engulfed in white, from the hospital gown, to the bedsheets, to the sterile white walls. There's a wine-dark bruise marking his temple and one of his eyes is black. Then he opens the one that's not swollen shut and grins at Hux. 

"You should see the other guy." 

"Ben," Hux sighs, relaxing to find Ben's well enough to crack jokes. He takes a seat beside him and ignores the strange sense of déjà vu niggling the back of his mind. "How are you feeling?" 

"Like shit. You're okay?" 

Hux nods. 

"No broken bones? No cough? Your hearing's alright? How many fingers am I -" 

"Ben!" Despite his better judgment, he grips his own throat and says, voice coming out a little shriller than he means it to, "I felt my neck snap but it's completely fine now, apparently. No harm done." He laughs at the look on Ben's face, and immediately feels guilty for it. "I'm . . . kidding." 

Ben's eyes flicker yellow. Anyone else would think it was a trick of the light. 

"No, you're not." Other Ben sits forward, expression grave. "Everything's collapsing. It's going to be difficult now, Hux, but we knew that when we started. You need to be ready for when something like this happens again. I can feel my power weakening. It won't last forever." He bites his lip, a tear falling down his cheek. "But God I wish . . . I wish we could stay." 

"I don't understand." 

"You don't want to understand," Other Ben corrects him. "I can't blame you." He sighs, falling back onto his pillows, and his eyes fade back to brown. 

He blinks, as though seeing Hux for the first time, then slowly grins. 

"You watching me sleep?" 

Hux tries not to shiver, bracing himself for reality to blink out again, Other Ben's words still rattling in his head. The same voice telling him the world's collapsing one second, and saying something normal the next is chilling, to say the least. 

"My mother was here, right? I didn’t dream that?" 

"No. She's here." 

Ben nods, thinking on that for a minute. He reaches up, wraps his hand loosely around the back of Hux's neck and squeezes. Hux freezes, thinking of it popping, cracking from his spine . . . but nothing happens, and then it just feels like Ben's what's holding him together. 

"I'm so sorry, baby," he says. "I know how much today meant to you." 

Hux thinks about the fire, his father's unwanted attendance, the world falling apart around his ears. About having people who care about what happens to him even if they can't help him, Ben's possible chance for reconnecting with his parents, and about Ben, mostly unharmed, safe, looking back at him with so much affection and concern in his eyes. 

Hux kisses his forehead. "It wasn't so bad." 

~~~ 

Han drives Hux and Luke home, since Luke's leg is broken and Leia elected to stay with Ben. Hux is vaguely aware of a song playing low on the radio, of Luke's and Han's hushed voices in the front seats, the cool seatbelt tucked beneath his chin. The stars dotting the sky over the highway. He drifts into them, letting his eyes fall closed, and dreams of a place . . .  

 

**A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away**

_Hux_ _is nodding off in the hard-backed_ _medbay_ _chairs on the fifth_ _day_ _after the destruction of_ _Starkiller_ _. He barely stifles hysterical laughter at the thought that he should take_ _Kylo_ _Ren's hand. He's been sleeping at his bedside_ _every night_ _for nearly a week now like an overly_ _concerned husband; time to act the part._  

 _He_ _has utterly nothing left. No legacy, soon no rank, very likely not even a life, not for_ _much longer_ _._ _Snoke_ _has made his d_ _isappointment_ _clear;_ _Hux_ _hasn't been called back to meet with him since_ _the instructions to find Ren and send him to his training_ _. He suspect_ _s_ _his next summons will be_ _to his own execution._  

 _Except_ _. . ._  

 _Except_ _for_ _what he does have left:_ _one foolish, reckless, overzealous_ _co-_ _commander who'_ _s_ _made_ _Hux's_ _life_ _difficult_ _from day one. His vitals show he's alive, clinging to life so stubbornly, but weakened._ _Hux_ _thinks of a time from childhood when_ _his father had taken him to an animal enclosure_ _. A_ _Firaxan_ _shark, sickly with being held too long in captivity, had crept by them in its_ _transparisteel_ _tank. It hadn't had any teeth._  

 _The memory comes unbidden as he stares_ _at_ _Kylo_ _Ren's unconscious face. One of the deadliest force users in the galaxy rendered so vulnerable_ _Hux_ _could slit his throat, cut off his head, strangle him until his pale face was mottled with purple_ _without fear of repercussion_ _._ _Just a year_ _ago he might have taken the opportunity._  

 _Instead, he_ _gently turns_ _his hand over and laces their fingers together_ _._  

 _He hadn't planned on feeling this way._  

 _"You miserable oaf," he whispers,_ _"Why don't you_ listen _?"_  

 _"Have they uploaded my consciousness to a droid or am I really this cold?"_  

 _Hux_ _jolts up, half fearing he'd been dreaming. But Ren is watching him with one eye_ _cracked open_ _, a grimace or a wry smile tugging at his lips._  

 _"I begged_ _Snoke_ _,"_ _Hux_ _says, voice trembling traitorously, "so we might all be rid of that ugly mug, but he wouldn't have it."_  

 _Ren reaches up tentatively to touch his face, tracking a fingertip over the raised scar running from forehead to jaw_ _. "_ _Too bad_ _. I would have liked to have been made of metal."_  

 _Hux_ _thinks of the helmet he wore religiously. "I_ _know you would."_  

 _A heavy silence sinks over them then as the gravity of their situation_ _hits them simultaneously._ _Hux_ _doesn't like the horror dawning in Ren's eyes._  

 _He tries to sit up, wincing and letting_ _himself fall back with a groan as the sudden movement upsets the stitches._ _"I'm sorry,_ _Hux_ _. I should_ _have –_ _"_  

Listened to you _. But of course._ _Hux_ _can't bear to hear it._ _"Shut up,"_ _he_ _s_ _naps_ _. "It's too late for that now." He sighs, letting his shoulders slump and_ _rest_ _ing his head_ _lightly on Ren's uninjured shoulder for a moment_ _. "Nothing's going to come of an apology. What we need to do is plan."_  

 _"I'm a bit . . . compromised_ _, at the moment." He seems to truly realize for the first time that_ _Hux_ _has dark, discolored bags under his eyes and_ _has been sitting at his side for quite some time_ _. His expression_ _betrays his_ _surprise_ _, then fades to something unreadable_ _. "_ _D_ _on't you have an army to_ _see to_ _?_ _You needn't work yourself up_ _over this_ _,_ _Hux_ _._ _This was my failure_ _. Any punishment will go to me_ _._ _If_ _Snoke_ _feels otherwise, I'll make him see reason._ _"_  

 _It's a naïve, foolish logic. But t_ _hen, Ren never really had understood_ _Snoke_ _, not like_ _Hux_ _did._ _Hux_ _would have laughed_ _at him in any other circumstances._ _"_ _You would rather_ _I left you to face_ _Snoke's_ _wrath alone?"_  

 _"It's what I deserve," he says tonelessly, as though merely stating a fact_ _:_ It's 18:00 hours. There's a shortage of supplies on B Deck. I deserve to be executed at the hands of the man I've trusted since before I could read. 

 _"You deserve to be_ _thrown out an airlock,"_ _Hux_ _s_ _narls_ _, suddenly feeling more alive than he has since_ _before_ _he watched_ _his stormtroopers carry_ _Ren's_ _limp, bloody body_ _away_ _from him_ _. L_ _ife seeps_ _back into his bones as an idea_ _begins shaping itself in his mind._ _"But if you are, it's going to be by me_ _, you understand?"_  

 _Ren gazes up at him blearily, and_ _Hux_ _knows he'll be falling unconscious again soon, but_ _the knight surprises him by_ _squ_ _eezing_ _his hand_ _tight_ _and press_ _ing_ _it over his heart._  

 _"You were worried about me," he says, his tone one of revelation. "Not about the fact you wouldn't be capable of overthrowing_ _Snoke_ _by yourself or that you would have no one to protect you. You were worried for_ me _."_  

 _Hux_ _can't meet his eyes suddenly, a pain he can't describe flaring in his chest. "_ _I_ _know you've always had to rely on reading my damn mind, Ren, but I thought you knew_ _._ _"_  

 _"I knew you felt . . ._ something _, yes. Not to this extent."_  

 _Hux_ _just barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. "_ _Just because I never said it_ _aloud doesn't make it untrue._ _But_ _I . . ." It hurts to say,_ _unlodging something buried as deeply in his heart as it is, just_ _as he knew it would, but the near memory of Ren bleeding out in his arms, the thought of him dying without ever having_ _said_ _it,_ _loosens his tongue_ _. "_ _I do adore you."_  

 _"Oh,_ _Hux_ _." Ren seems_ _utterly unashamed that he's crying_ _. Poor_ _rebel-raised sap, doesn't he realize that to give away one's emotions so freely is the path to self-destruction_ _?_ _"I think . . ._ _I've_ _proven_ _I shouldn't be trusted with making the plans," he says, words slurr_ _ing worse_ _as he goes on. "_ _How about you think for the both of us for now_ _?"_  

 _"Now you're getting it,"_ _Hux_ _whispers. Ren_ _laughs, eyelids fluttering._ _Hux_ _strokes his hair, still sticky with_ _bacta_ _, and accepts the flutter of delight he feels at being trusted, at being_ wanted _to be_ _so close to him._ _"Sleep now,_ _Kylo_ _. I won't leave you."_  

 _"Do you know, s_ _ince I met you, I've never wanted anything but_ _to hear you say that," Ren says even as he drifts off to sleep_ _, a soft smile lingering on his lips._  

 _Hux_ _stays by his side throughout the night, and maps out their next move in his mind, shot through with images of crowns and thrones and eviler men's heads mounted on the wall._


End file.
